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by"Larry" Chittenden 

"Poet-Ranchman" 



MONTCLAIR EDITION 




Class J,_^l_LaJi 






COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 




FROM A PmOTO by DEANE 






RANCH VERSES 



BY 



WILLIAM LAWRENCE CHITTENDEN 

Author of * ' Bermuda Verses " 



ILLUSTRATED 

Fifteenth Edition 
Enlarged 

MONTCLAIR EDITION 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

2 WEST 45TH ST. 24 BEDFORD ST., STRAND 

NEW YORK CITY LONDON 

192 1 






COPYRIGHT, 189s 
BY 

WILLIAM LAWRENCE CHITTENDEN 

COPYRIGHT, 1 92 1 
BY 

WILLIAM LAWRENCE CHITTENDEN 



NOV -3 192 






lW3 



The verses in this little volume are offsprings of 
solitude — born in idle hours on a Texas ranch. 

W. L. C. 



Chittenden's Ranch, 
Anson, Texas, 
yanuary, iSgj, 



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CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Hidden . i 

My Old Friend, " The Maj AH Green" ... 2 

Why Not Be Happy To-Day ? . . . . . 5 

Sub Rosa 6 

To THE MOCKING-BiRD 7 

The Ranchman's Story 8 

A Sonnet — The Prairies ii 

The Cowboys' Christmas Ball 12 

Montclair 17 

The Difference .18 

Galveston 18 

When the Norther Sighs , , , . .19 

"In His Name". . . . . . , .20 

The Ranchman's Letter . . . , . .22 

My Mother . . 24 

A Bachelor's Dilemma 26 

A Farmer's Songs 27 

Texas Types — The Cowboy 29 

A Village Fable ....... 30 

Kind Words .31 

Could I But Fly on Seabird's Wing ... 32 
The Prodigal Daughter ...... 32 

V 



VI Contents^ 

PAGS 

The Lovely Rosalie 33 

A Cowboy to Kipling ...,,, 38 

A Summer Girl , • . 39 

Beyond the Harbor Bar .,.,,. 40 

The Twinkle of her Eyes 41 

To Dives , , , , 42 

An April Song — to Alice 42 

Neptune's Steeds 44 

Acrostic — Easter Blossoms 46 

Evening Zephyrs . 46 

The Ranchman's Song 48 

A Message . , .49 

A King's Daughter ....... 50 

To May in Paris 51 

Echoes 52 

The Old Homestead ....... 53 

Declined 54 

To A Coquette 55 

The Old Texan in New York 56 

Man 57 

That Little Boy 58 

A Serenade 59 

Texas ,...60 

The Yachtsman's Song 63 

Would n't You ? . . . . , ... 64 

The Parson Pickax Gray ....*. 65 

A San Antonio Memory ...... 69 

The Cynic and the Poet 71 

Ode to the Norther . . • • . . *j% 



Contents, vii 

FAGB 

The Dying Actor's Soliloquy . . • . . 73 

The Maine Coast 74 

"Maverick Bill" 76 

A Barefooted Boy , . , , , . .80 

What Is Life ? 81 

I 'm Sad To-Night 82 

Who Knows? 83 

A Texas " Lamb," or the Cowboy in Wall Street 84 

A Drummer's Reverie by the Rio Grande . . 86 

Brer Brown's Collection 88 

** Remember THE Alamo" 90 

A Sonnet TO Night 91 

Lady Belle — A Villanelle 92 

The Round-Up 93 

"Christine" 95 

The Old Log Fire . . * . . , .96 

Old Fort Phantom Hill 97 

Good-Bye 100 

" Reveries OF A Bachelor " 100 

Ennui 102 

The Brazos Queen . . . . . . . 104 

The Waltz 107 

The Hermit's Soliloquy ...... 109 

Never Despair in 

To Katherine 112 

The Question . . . . . . . . 113 

Youth 115 

Age 116 

The " G " Strings of the Heart . . . .117 



viii Contents, 

PAGB 

Highland Evening Song , . , , , .119 

Lines to a Picture 120 

forevermore 121 

Bar Harbor Days 122 

My Bark Is on the Sea 124 

A Sonnet to the Sea 125 

Persevere 126 

To THE Memory of Gen. Sam Houston . . . 127 

To-Day 128 

Lines to a Lady , . 129 

Waiting 130 

Misunderstood 131 

Texas Types — The Sheriff ..... 131 

Texas Types — The Cattle Queen . , . . 133 

To AN " Unknown Friend " — " A. M. * . . , 135 

The Ranchman's Ride 136 

The Ladies — A Toast 137 

The New York Girl 138 

The Boston Girl ....... 139 

The Western Girl 140 

The Southern Girl . 141 

The California Girl . . . . . . 142 

The Ladies of Dixie 143 

The Old Mackenzie Trail 144 

Lines to an Artist in New York .... 146 

A Song 147 

A Memory of Washington Square .... 148 

Ye Bachelors, Beware ! 149 

A Bar Harbor Idyl . . ' 151 



Contents, ix 

PAGB 

Acrostic 152 

The Shrewsbury River 153 

Rondeau — Ye Friendly Books 155 

A Stockman's Adventures in New York • . 156 

To A Lady Playing the Guitar .... 162 

The Vikings of Cape Ann 163 

To Summer , 165 

Texas Types— " The Bad Man " . , . .166 

To THE Memory of Gen. R. S. Mackenzie . , 167 

The Florida Keys i6g 

Texas Types — " The Tenderfoot " , . . , 170 

Broadway, N. Y., 6 P.M 171 

Reflections at a Young Ladies' Tea Party . . 172 
Farewell, Farewell, My Lady . . , .175 

Al Fresco ! ... 177 

To the Memory of Major Daniel Gano , ,177 

To A Dallas Lady 178 

The Lonely Congaree 179 

The Squall — Off Sandy Hook .... 182 

Farewell 184 

' Outward Bound "...••., 184 

A Question of Profit 185 

The Dying Scout . . • • • • . 186 

Returning to the Ranch 190 

Where the Woodpecker Knocks on the Door . 193 

Reciprocity • , 197 

A Vision 197 

Opinions of the Press 201 



X Contents, 

PAGE 

Tom Moore . 200 

The Origin of the Term Maverick . . . 201 

Hope 202 

To THE Red Cross Lady 204 

The League of Kindness 206 

The Jackrabbit 207 

The Cowboy Preacher's Sermon .... 209 

The Prairie Dog . 211 

Our Heroes ........ 212 

Montclair's Roll of Honor 213 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 




Frontispitce 

Facing page v 

I 



* Portrait of Author 

The Ranch 

Home of Ranch Verses . 

Old Times at Anson, Texas . 

" They Called Him ' Windy Billy ' " 

Waiting for the Mail . 

The Wild White Steeds of Neptune 

" Like a Sea-Bird of Morning She is Off 

AND Away . 
The Maine Coast. Otter Cliffs, near 

Bar Harbor 
Wall Street . 

* " Boys on the Road " 

Remember the Alamo 

Distant View of Round- 

A Ranch Round-up 

Sam Houston . 

A Texas Sheriff 

*' Hurrah for a Ride on 
Free " 

The Northern Lilies 
' ' The Gentle Magnolias that Bloom in 
THE South" 

On the Old Mackenzie Trail 
The Vikings of Cape Ann 
f Far Away in the Land of the Grace 
FUL Palmetto .... 

"A Gentleman of the Old School' 
(Major Daniel Gang) 

"Ah, that Face of Wistful Beauty " 

A Bermuda Post Card ... 

* Reproduced from Photographs by Deane, Dallas, Texas. 

t Reproduced from an illustration by Mr. Harry Fenn, in Picturesque 
America^ published by Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. 

The Ranch pictures are from photographs taken by J. N. Miller, 
Aason, Texas. 



4 
14 

24 
44 

64 

74 
84 
86 
90 

94 
no 
128 
132 

136 
138 

142 
144 
164 

170 

178 
180 
184 



xu 



Illustrations. 



"Walsingham" — Moore's House, Ber- 
muda Facing page 200 

The Fireplace in Moore's House 

Bermuda Palms 

Palm Beach . . • 

The Everglades 

Christmas Cove 

Old-time West Texas Temple of Justice 
Cowboys Drinking! — ^at "S.M.S. Ranch" 
Cowboys Dancing ** The Cow Punch" 
Scout Visitors to Prince of Wales . 
Bugle Souvenir 



200 
202 
204 
204 
206 
206 
208 
208 
212 
214 




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RANCH VERSES. 



HIDDEN. 

TO GEN. R. M. GANO. 

A FAR on the pathless prairies 
*^*' The rarest of flowers abound ; 
And in the dark caves of the valleys 

There is wealth that will never be found ; 
So there are sweet songs in the silence 
That never will melt into sound. 

The twilight illumines her banners 
With colors no artist can teach ; 

And aloft in the sky there are sermons 
Too mighty for mortals to preach ; 

So life has its lovely ideals 

Too lofty for language to reach. 

Afar on the sea there 's a music 

That the shore never knows in its rest ; 

And in the green depths of the forest 
There are choirs that carol unblest ; 

So, deep in the heart there 's a music 
And a cadence that 's never expressed. 
I 



Ranch Verses* 



MY OLD FRIEND, " THE MAJAH GREEN." 

T N the sunny land of Texas, where Tom Ochil- 

■■' tree *s at home, 

Where the cowman swings the lasso and the wild 

jack-rabbits roam ; 
Where hearts of gallant gentlemen are full of sand 

and glow, 
And the prairies laugh to plenty with the tickle of 

the hoe ; 
Where the vote is always solid — on the democratic 

side. 
And old " Tariff Mills " is grinding grist and 

thought from far and wide ; 
Where the mocking-birds are singing on the 

feathery mesquite trees, 
And the zephyrs soft are flinging rarest fragrance 

to the breeze ; 
Where the rustlers from the ranches chase the 

wild-eyed maverick steer, 
And the pitching pony prances o*er the dog-towns 

far and near ; 
Where the antelope is grazing, thirty miles from 

Abilene, 
There it was I met the " Majah ** — my old friend, 

" The Majah Green." 

He had led the Southern armies, when their 
banners floated free. 



My Old Friend, " The Majah Greene 3 

From the winding Rappahannock to the tropic 

Mexique Sea. 
Ay, he told me wondrous stories of the days 

"befo' de wah," 
When he " owned the pertest darkies," " that was 

raised in Georgah, sah." 
And he spoke about his boyhood in a " rah old 

Southern town," 
On the lazy Ocmulgee, with its houses old and 

brown ; 
Where they raised big sweet potatoes, and the 

"little goober vines," 
And the " roses blushed forever," 'neath the softly 

wooing pines. 
But at last he came to Texas, to the " woolly 

wild " frontier, 
Where he " founded Anson City," in the spring- 
time of the year. 
There he built his " little homestead," garlanded 

with eglantine, 
Where the hollyhocks threw kisses to the fragrant 

jessamine. 
He was bluff and stout and hearty, rather pompous 

in his mien. 
Yet he had a kindly " howdy " for all, had Major 

Green. 

• •••••• 

Perhaps he was not educated, as a tenderfoot 

conceives. 
But he scanned the books of nature, as the seasons 

turned the leaves. 



4 Ranch Verses, 

He was very fond of hunting — that *s the reason 

he liked me ; 
Many a time we roamed together o'er the prairies 

broad and free, 
Where the Double Mountains standeth, and will 

stand for many a day, 
Till the Seventh Trumpet soundeth, and the earth 

shall pass away. 
Oft we watched the gilded banners of the golden 

hours depart, 
When the twilight's richest beauty sheds its 

shadows o'er the heart. 
Soon the evening fire was kindled, and we rested 

on the ground, 
While the breathing stars shed lustre o'er the 

wilderness profound. 
Then the Major told his stories, sang some deep 

bass roundelay 
To his " Lily of the Valley," or " Old Dixie," far 

away. 
Yes, his heart beat high but kindly, square and 

honest, nothing mean 
'Bout that "Vetran, sah," ''the Majah," my old 

friend, the Major Green. 

Hark ! the lonely doves are cooing, in the weeping 

mesquite vale. 
And the south winds sad are sighing o'er the old 

McKenzie trail ; 
Ah, they miss that sturdy figure, for his honest feet 

have trod 



Why Not be Happy To-day, 5 

Far beyond the sunset mountains where his spirit 

went to God. 
The prairie flowers are waving o'er a lonely little 

mound, 
For the Major roams the borders of the Happy 

Hunting Ground. 
He has crossed the Royal River that rolls on to 

crystal seas, 
And has found his old commander, Stonewall 

Jackson, " 'neath the trees." 
They are resting from their labors ; oh, I know 

that smile serene 
That in olden days illumined my old friend, " The 

Majah Green." 



WHY NOT BE HAPPY TO-DAY? 

T HAVE questioned my hopes of the future, 

I have doubted my dreams of the past, 
I have roamed through the realms of ambition. 
With visions too lovely to last. 
I have longed for youth's fondest ideals, 
But those phantoms are now far away, 
And at last fair philosophy whispers. 
Oh, why not be happy to-day ? 

Though storm clouds may darken life's valley, 
(And each heart has some shadows of care,) 
The bright sun will soon gild the heavens. 
And thy troubles will melt into air. 



6 Ranch Verses. 

So what is the use of repining ? 

Will it bless or ennoble you, pray ? 

No ! — The world does not care for your whining, 

So why not be happy to-day ? 

Ah, the old world at heart is too solemn, 

For life is at best full of trials ; 

But try to be cheerful, *t will help you, 

If you brighten all pathways with smiles. 

Then life will be well worth the living. 

Let kindness illumine its way. 

And with Hope's gilded banners before us 

Let 's strive to be happy to-day. 



SUB ROSA. 

T HAVE heard the robins singing 

^ Where the sweet magnolia grows ; 

I have seen the zephyrs flinging 

Twilight kisses to the rose ; 
But a sweeter song has filled me 

Than the birds in perfumed bowers, 
And a softer kiss has thrilled me 

Than the south winds on the flowers. 

I have felt the lilies blowing 
Dewy fragrance in the morn ; 

I have seen the sunbeams glowing 
Golden blushes on the corn ; 



To the Mocking-Bird. 

But I know a flower that 's fairer 

Than the lilies ever grew, 
And I love a blush that *s rarer 

Than the sunbeam's softest hue. 

I have seen the moonbeams flying 

Over starlit, silvery seas ; 
I have heard the zephyrs sighing 

Through the orange blossomed trees ; 
But a purer ray has blessed me 

Than the moonlight on the sands, 
And a softer sigh caressed me 

Than the breath of tropic lands. 

She is fairer than the flowers ; 

She is sweeter than the rose ; 
And her heart of kindness showers 

Blessings everywhere she goes. 
Altruistic — without sinning — 

She 's an angel from the sky, 
(Far above my earthly winning)— 

She 's engaged ! and so am I ! 



TO THE MOCKING-BIRD. 



A FAR from noisy, tuneless throngs, 
"^^ *■ Which worship round the cities' shrine, 
I listen to thy moonlight songs, 
Thy melodies divine. 



8 Ranch Verses, 

I drink the sweetness of thy lay- 
Where fragrant breezes softly play 
Through silvery banners of whispering moss 
Which wave beneath the Southern Cross. 

I hear thy clear and restful note 

Upon the evening air arise, 
Until the silence seems to float 

With music from the skies. 
Yes, I have listened till I felt 
My restless heart begin to melt, 
Until my spirit longed to be , 

In tuneful harmony with thee. 

Ah, there 's an echo in thy strain 

Which soothes the tired, troubled breast, 
And bids life's passions sleep again 

And charms the soul to rest. 
But who, indeed, can truly pay 
Just tribute to thy heavenly lay ? 
Not I, alas ! No words of mine 
Can echo those rare songs of thine. 



THE RANCHMAN'S STORY. 

T LONG had lived a lonely life 
'*■ Far from the world apart. 
A dweller 'midst a land of dreams, 
Close, close to Nature's heart. 



v^ 



The Ranchman! s Story, 

Ah, Nature always speaks the truth ! 

(In her I still believe) 
And so I passed my earnest youth 

Unpractised to deceive. 

I loved mankind — my hopes were high, 

For r had often trod 
Upon the lofty mountain heights 

Whose summits point to God ! 
My heart was tuned by songs of birds, 

My life was free from care ; 
I dwelt in youth's rare palaces, 

'Midst castles in the air. 

At last I left my prairie home, 

I roamed to distant strands. 
And lived in courtly marble halls 

In stately Northern lands. 
Ah ! there I met a queen of art, 

A lovely woman dear, 
" An idol for a poet's heart," 

My " Lady Vere de Vere I " 

Yes, she was young and proud and fair — 

Fair as the evening star — 
So, " poet-like," I idealized 

And worshipped her afar. 
Ah, yes, I loved her high-bred mien. 

She seemed so pure and kind ! 
She praised my songs, she heard my words- 

Oh, why was I so blind ? 



lo Ranch Verses, 

To ardent speech and Southern hearts 

She said she was unused ; 
Oh, yes, she " liked an earnest man " ; 

She " loved to be amused ! " 
And so I lost my foolish heart ; 

She kept it for a day, 
Till Fate decreed that we should part 

And strand me far away. 

Last week a scented letter came 

My visions to dispel ; 
It brought her dainty wedding-cards 

And that long word — " Farewell ! ** 
To-day my lady will be wed. 

To-day the bells will ring, 
And yet the world seems cold and dead. 

My birds have ceased to sing. 

To-day alone, in lonely lands. 

Where Bridesmaid Nature smiles, 
I hear a muffled wedding march 

In dim cathedral aisles, 
'Midst all the throngs of beauty there, 

Of all that pomp and pride, 
I only see the rippling hair. 

The pure eyes of the bride ! 

The proud procession sweeps along 
Behind her blossomed veil ; 

It pauses there in silence now 
Beside the chancel rail. 



A Sonnet — TAe Prairies. ii 

The words are said — her answer comes 
(My dream was false and fleet) — 

But still I strew my blessings there 
Around her dainty feet. 

Ah ! now there is no peace for me, 

I roam life's plains alone, 
'Midst fervent hopes of former days 

With wrecks of ruin strown. 
Oh, how the mournful zephyrs sigh 

Her last words in my ear ! 
My world, my heart, my life is full 

Of Lady Vere de Vere ! 

Though I can tame the wild mustang 

And breast the ocean's ire. 
And face the Norther's freezing blast 

Or check the prairie fire, 
I cannot curb a restless heart, 

Nor stem Love's swelling tide ; 
'T was wealth that burned our souls apart— 

" Farewell ! " pale victim bride ! 



A SONNET— THE PRAIRIES. 

T LOVE the prairies broad and free, 
-*■ For there I know and there I feel 

My heart is not a thing of steel. 
Lost in this tawny, fragrant sea 



12 Ranch Verses, 

I breathe and hear that minstrelsy 
Which Nature's vibrant chords reveal, 
And Nature's tuneful songs appeal 

To all that 's best and good in me. 
The stars, the clouds, the azure skies 

And viewless vastness all combine 

To broaden life ; yes, here my spirit soars 
and flies 

Beyond the world's low level line 
Till, lost, forgetful of life's sighs, 

It dwells in miraged realms divine. 



THE COWBOYS' CHRISTMAS BALL. 

TO THE RANCHMEN OF TEXAS. 

'^1 TAY out in Western Texas, where the Clear 
^ * Fork's waters flow. 

Where the cattle are " a-browzin','* an* the Spanish 
ponies grow ; 

Where the Northers " come a-whistlin' " from 
beyond the Neutral strip ; 

And the prairie dogs are sneezin', as if they had 
" The Grip " ; 

Where the cayotes come a-howlin' 'round the 
ranches after dark, 

And the mocking-birds are singin' to the lovely 
" medder lark " ; 

Where the 'possum and the badger, and rattle- 
snakes abound, 



The Cowboys^ Christmas Ball, 13 

And the monstrous stars are winkin' o'er a wil- 
derness profound ; 

Where lonesome, tawny prairies melt into airy 
streams, 

While the Double Mountains slumber, in heavenly 
kinds of dreams ; 

Where the antelope is grazin' and the lonely 
plovers call — 

It was there that I attended " The Cowboys' 
Christmas Ball." 

The town was Anson City, old Jones's county 

seat. 
Where they raise Polled Angus cattle, and waving 

whiskered wheat ; 
Where the air is soft and " bammy," an' dry an' 

full of health. 
And the prairies is explodin' with agricultural 

wealth ; 
Where they print the Texas Western, that Hec. 

McCann supplies, 
With news and yarns and stories, uv most amazin' 

size ; 
Where Frank Smith "pulls the badger," on know- 
in' tenderfeet. 
And Democracy 's triumphant, and mighty hard 

to beat ; 
Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap 

from Lamar, 
Who " used to be the Sheriff, back East, in Paris^ 

sah ! " 



14 Ranch Verses, 

'T was there, I say, at Anson, with the lively " wid- 

der Wall," 
That I went to that reception, " The Cowboys* 

Christmas Ball." 

The boys had left the ranches and come to town 

in piles ; 
The ladies — " kinder scatterin' " — had gathered in 

for miles. 
And yet the place was crowded, as I remember 

well, 
'T was got for the occasion, at " The Morning Star 

Hotel." 
The music was a fiddle an' a lively tambourine. 
And a "viol come imported," by the stage from 

Abilene. 
The room was togged out gorgeous — with mistle- 
toe and shawls. 
And candles flickered frescoes, around the airy 

walls. 
The " wimmin folks " looked lovely — the boys 

looked kinder treed. 
Till their leader commenced yellin' : " Whoa ! 

fellers, let 's stampede," 
And the music started sighin', an' awailin' through 

the hall. 
As a kind of introduction to "The Cowboys* 

Christmas Ball." 

The leader was a feller that came from Swenson's 
Ranch. 




"they called him windy billy.' 



The Cowboys' Christmas Ball. 15 

They called him "Windy Billy," from "little 

Deadman's Branch." 
His rig was " kinder keerless," big spurs and high- 
heeled boots ; 
He had the reputation that comes when " fellers 

shoots." 
His voice was like a bugle upon the mountain's 

height ; 
His feet were animated, an' a mighty^ movin sights 
When he commenced to holler, " Neow fellers, 

stake yer pen ! 
"Lock horns ter all them heifers, an' russle 'em 

like men. 
" Saloot yer lovely critters ; neow swing an' let 

'em go, 
" Climb the grape vine 'round 'em — all hands do- 

ce-do ! 
" You Mavericks, jine the round-up — Jest skip her 

waterfall," 
Huh ! hit wuz gettin' happy, " The Cowboys' 

Christmas Ball ! " 

The boys were tolerable skittish, the ladies power- 
ful neat, 

That old bass viol's music just got there with both 
feet! 

That wailin', frisky fiddle, I never shall forget ; 

And Windy kept a singin' — I think I hear him 
yet — 

"O Xes, chase your squirrels, an' cut 'em to one 
side, 



l6 Ranch Verses, 

" Spur Treadwell to the centre, with Cross P Char- 
ley's bride, 
" Doc. Hollis down the middle, an' twine the ladies' 

chain, 
" Varn Andrews pen the fillies in big T Diamond's 

train. 
" All pull yer freight tergether, neow swallow fork 

an' change, 
" * Big Boston ' lead the trail herd, through little 

Pitchfork's range. 
" Purr 'round yer gentle pussies, neow rope 'em ! 

Balance all ! " 
Huh ! hit wuz gettin' active — " The Cowboys' 

Christmas Ball ! " 

The dust riz fast an' furious, we all just galloped 

'round. 
Till the scenery got so giddy, that Z Bar Dick was 

downed. 
We buckled to our partners, an' told 'em to hold 

on, 
Then shook our hoofs like lightning, until the 

early dawn. 
Don't tell me 'bout cotillions, or germans. No sir 

'ee ! 
That whirl at Anson City just takes the cake with 

me. 
I 'm sick of lazy shufflin's, of them I 've had my 

fill, 
Give me a frontier break-down, backed up by 

Windy Bill. 



Montclair, 17 

McAllister ain't nowhar ! when Windy leads the 

show, 
I 've seen *em both in harness, and so I sorter 

know — 
Oh, Bill, I sha'n't forget yer, and I '11 oftentimes 

recall, 
That lively gaited sworray — " The Cowboys* 

Christmas Ball." 



MONTCLAIR. 

T^EAR lovely mountain town, farewell, 
^■'^ Though we, alas, must part. 
Thy landscape beauties long shall dwell 
Like memories in my heart. 

As some lone river onward flows 

To seek a restful sea. 
So shall my spirit seek repose 

In restful dreams of thee. 

Though far in distant lands I roam, 

A haunted wanderer there, 
I '11 think of thee, my boyhood's home, 

Cool mountain-browed Montclair. 

I love thy crags and purple hills, 

Thy views of distant seas. 
Thy fruitful vines and whispering rills, 

Thy groves of murmuring trees. 



1 8 Ranch Verses. 

How oft I trod thy woodland vales, 

Along thy shaded streams, 
A hunter lost 'midst gameless dales, 

In boyhood's land of dreams. 

Though Time may blight life's youthful hopes, 

Fond Memory's fancies fair 
Shall twine rich garlands round thy slopes, 

Proud mountain town, Montclair ! 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

" I "EN years ago, my lovely Kate, 

'■• Eighteen was I with you, 
But now when I am twenty-eight 
You 're only twenty-two ! 

How is it in Time's equal race 
My years have yours surpassed ? 

" Because," laughed Kate, with roguish facCj 
" Because you lived so fast! " 



GALVESTON. 



TO " M. P. W. 



"X X /"HERE sea-gulls fair are flying 

Above a lonely sea. 
And zephyrs rare are sighing 
Across the sandy lea ; 



Rondeau, 19 

Where oleanders blossom beneath a generous sun, 
There by the sobbing billows, dreams lovely Gal- 
veston. 

Her roses bloom forever 
Beneath an azure sky. 
Her sunlight fadeth never, 
For summer lingers nigh. 
There at the gates of Texas, in tropic garlands 

drest, 
She smiles in budding beauty — the queen of the 
Southwest. 



WHEN THE NORTHER SIGHS. 

RONDEAU. 

*! 1 fHENthe Norther sighs, and the storm winds 

* ' pour 
From the cold, bleak coasts of Labrador, 
How pleasant then, by the big log fire, 
To watch the cheerful flames leap higher 
And hear the great wide chimneys roar. 
What hidden realms can the mind explore 
In the mystic lands of classic lore "i 
To what bold flights may the Muse aspire 
When the Norther sighs ? 

Then here afar, when the wild winds war, 
And the cayote howls at my lonely door, 



20 Ranch Verses, 

I love to wake the slumbering lyre, 
For my spirit soars beyond care's pyre, 
And I dream old dreams, beloved of yore, 
When the Norther sighs. 



"IN HIS NAME." 

TO MRS. MARGARET BOTTOME. 

T N fair Virginia's Lotus Land, where sings the 

"*■ whippoorwill. 

And slumb'rous sunlight loves to woo the rippling 

mountain rill. 
Long years ago a careless lad, fresh freed from 

droning school, 
I roamed fair Shenandoah's vales, in meadows rich 

and cool. 
I saw the river sweep along through fields of wav- 
ing grain ; 
I heard the piping bobolinks sing olden songs 

again ; 
And high upon the Blue Ridge heights, where 

rarest zephyrs dwell, 
I wandered on 'midst sylvan scenes into a lonely 

dell, 
Where, hidden in the weeping grass, beyond all 

strife or blame, 
I found a slab which simply said, " Erected in His 

Name." 



" In His Name'' 2i 

I scanned that slanting little cross and paused 

beside the mound, 
To read the story buried there, but nothing more 

was found. 
I knew some soldier, tired and worn, from earthly 

battles free, 
Had answered to his last tattoo and Death's grim 

reveille. 
Yet who he was or whence he came, alas ! no one 

can tell 
The weeping mother of that son just where her 

hero fell. 
Perhaps some mournful maiden now is sighing for 

the tread 
That *s crossed the purple twilight hills to cities of 

the dead. 
Perhaps some prattling children long for steps that 

never came. 
And lilies of the valley bloom and blossom " In 

His Name." 

Some aged father's manly prop and loving sister's 

care 
Has crossed to twilight realms of rest in valleys 

over there. 
The sunlight now is smiling soft upon that lonely 

lea, 
The silvery Shenandoah sweeps her blossoms to 

the sea ; 
Yet unforgotten sorrow broods around that pensive 

scene. 



22 Ranch Verses, 

And weeping seasons shed their woes upon the 

misty green. 
The hooing owls murmur low, and sad the whip- 

poorwills 
Echo the story of that mound o'er old Virginia's 

hills ; 
But when at last fair glory calls for all her sons of 

fame, 
The silent watcher over all will answer, " In His 

Name." 



THE RANCHMAN'S LETTER. 

A T a lonely old ranch by the fire to-night, 
'^ ^ At my ranch on the Texas frontier, 
Old memories, my lady, now prompt me to write 
To a friend who is distant — yet near. 

While the fire dreams on in its warm chimney bed 
And the owls are calling " Tu Whoo ! " 

Alone I recall the fond past that is fled. 
Alone I am thinking of you. 

And you ? as you flirt with some gay millionaire, 
Or among " the four hundred " seek rest, 

Do you ever remember, my proud Lady Clare, 
Your friend in *' the wild, woolly West " ? 



The Ranchman* s Letter, 23 

Have you then forgotten our joys of the past. 

That parting, and silent good-bye ? 
Alas, those bright days were too lovely to last 

For such a poor fellow as I. 

The parts that we play od the broad stage of life 

Are now very different, I fear ; 
For while you are leading 'midst fashionable strife 

I chase the shy " maverick steer." 

Vou dwell in proud mansions on Fifth Avenue, 
Sometimes you are seen at Long Branch ; 

t live here alone with a cowboy or two 
'Midst the woes of a bachelor s ranch. 

You dine on rare viands and costly champagne, 
You lunch with Delmonico's queens, 

In the summer you live in the hotels of Maine ; 
I live on boiled bacon and beans. 

You drive in proud state, your coachman is dark. 
You pose in your carriage, of course ; 

You travel in Pullmans to Tuxedo Park, 
I ride on a wild pitching horse ! 

Your dresses are poems ! your bills are immense 

At least I imagine they are ; 
They make a fine figure — in dollars and cents ; 

They are paid by your frowning papa. 



24 Ranch Verses, 

You go to receptions and Patriarchs' balls, 

You gossip at five o'clock teas, 
You 're a slave to gay fashion ! Oh, how it 
enthralls ; 

I call it a farce, if you please. 

Yes ! yes ! it *s a sham ! You are wasting your 
life 

In those fashionable follies up there, — 
You who would make such a lovable wife ! 

I would court you myself — did I dare ! 

But alas, it can't be ! you would never live here, 
And prudence forbids me to speak ; 

For while you are spending four thousand a year 
/ subsist on two dollars a week ! 



MY MOTHER. 

T KNOW a dear old lady 
^ Whose voice is soft and low. 
Her face is like some picture, 
A dream of long ago. 

She is not great nor famous. 
Nor known in realms of art, 

But she is rich in treasures 
Which gild a kindly heart. 



My Mother, 25 

To see her is to bless her ; 

Her praise is on each tongue ; 
She 's friends in all the aged, 

And " lovers in the young." 

Her life 's a living sermon 

Of hope and gentle facts — 
A text for human nature, 

That 's found in loving acts ! 

She fills her world with kindness, 

It brightens every spot. 
She has her earthly sorrows, 

But yet of earth is not. 

She 's patient, pure, and happy, 

In these her twilight days ; 
Her lips are ever ready 

To comfort or to praise. 

Her soul *s a gleam of sunshine, 
A rainbow in Life's showers ; 

Her presence is a garden 
Of ever-blooming flowers. 

Which Time can never wither. 

For recollections rare 
Shall bloom around her memory, 

And twine Love's garlands there. 



26 Ranch Verses, 



A BACHELOR'S DILEMMA. 

"]\ yj Y lady is lovely and noble and kind, 
^^ ^ Too noble for me, I am sure. 
She 's the queen of all women, rich, true, and 
refined ; 
I am only gay-hearted and poor. 

She 's a leader of fashion — has a home of her own ; 

Her mansions are wonderfully fair. 
I am " only a poet " — I live all alone ; 

My castles are all in the air. 

Alas, she *s too wealthy and stylish for me, 
Yet I love her far more than my life. 

But I 'm too proud to marry — I never could be 
" A man that 's maintained by his wife." 

" We were made for each other," of this I am sure; 

She likes me — I know by her eyes — 
But alas, she 's so wealthy and I am so poor, 

I cannot support such a prize ! 

Then what in the world should a bachelor do 
Who is busted, teetotally, flat ? 

Why ! I '11 ask for her hand, and her higfortune^ 
too. 
Then — work — to support her with that ! 



A Farmer's Songs, 27 



A FARMER'S SONGS. 

"1 1 rAL, I reckon I 'm ole-fashioned, but them 

songs that Nacher sings 
Iz the kind tu soothe my feelin's an' twang my ole 

heart strings. 
When I sets back fer muzic, I expecks to hear sum 

chune 
Thet will thrill through my ole buzzum like er 

robin's song in June. 

Oh, I luv the brook's clear tinkle, fiddlin' onward 
to the sea 

Ez it laughs aroun' the rushes whar the black- 
birds call " CO chee " ; 

Thar iz muzic uv a mornin' in the risin' songs uv 
birds, 

More delightful tu my feelin's than the sweetest 
kind uv words. 

Then at noon when I 'm er restin' 'neath the meller 

blossomed trees, 
It iz sleepy-like an plezzant jes to hear the drowzy 

bees. 
Or the lazy locus' hummin' on a peaceful summer 

day. 
When the air iz warm an' fragrant with the clover 

tops an' hay. 



28 Ranch Verses, 

Thar iz muzic tu at twilight, ez mos' every one 

allows, 
In the chingle, changle, chingle, of the homeward 

windin' cows ; 
An' when the chores iz finished ez the evenin* 

shadders falls, 
I luv to hear the cattle munchin' muzic in their 

stalls. 

An' at dusk when work is over, an' the air iz 

hushed an' still. 
It is mournful-like an' plezzant jes to hear the 

whipperwill ; 
Then at last when supper 's finished an' wife 's sot 

away the things, 
Heow I dream an' loaf an' listen while the 

steamin' kettle sings. 

When the winter storms cum' ragin', and the big 

log fires glow, 
Heow I luv the chimbley's muzic, like a dirge from 

long ago ; 
Yes, I reckon I *m ole-fashioned, but the songs wot 

Nacher sings 
Iz the kind tu soothe my feelin's an' twang my o»e 

heart-strings. 



Texas Types — The Cowboy. 29 



TEXAS TYPES— THE COWBOY. 

T_T E wears a big hat and big spurs and all that, 
-^ ^ And leggins of fancy fringed leather ; 
He takes pride in his boots and the pistol he 
shoots, 
And he 's happy in all kinds of weather. 

He is fond of his horse — 't is a bronco, of course, 

For, oh, he can ride like the Devil ; 
He is old for his years, and he always appears 

To be foremost at round-up or revel. 

He can sing, he can cook, yet his eyes have the 
look 

Of a man that to fear is a stranger ; 
Yes, his cool, quiet nerve will always subserve 

In his wild life of duty and danger. 

He gets little to eat and he guys tenderfeet, 
And for Fashion — oh, well, he 's " not in it ! " 

He can rope a gay steer when he gets on his ear, 
At the rate of two-forty a minute ! 

His saddle 's the best in the wild, woolly West, 
Sometimes it will cost sixty dollars ; 

Ah, he knows all the tricks, when he brands 
" Mavericks," 
But his learning 's not gained from your scholars. 



30 Ranch Verses, 

He is loyal as steel, but demands a square deal, 
And he hates and despises a coward. 

Yet the cowboy you '11 find unto woman is kind, 
Though he '11 fight till by death overpowered. 

Hence I say unto you, give the cowboy his due, 
And be kinder, my friends, to his folly ; 

For he 's generous and brave, though he may not 
behave 
Like your dudes, who are so melancholy. 



A VILLAGE FABLE, 

A S Death and the Devil were taking the air, 
^^^ In a beautiful village — the town of Montclair — 
They came to a doctor, a true friend of both, 
Who h2i6. physicked himself — and was dying forsooth ! 
" See here," wailed sad Death, " see here. Jolly Nick, 

" Is our friend Doctor B but alas, he 's quite sick : 

" Yet his practice is large, as you '11 surely agree, 
** For his patients keep coming to you and to me. 
" Shall we spare him this time, at least for awhile ? " 
" By all means ! " sang Nick, as he said, with a smile, 
" Well, well, dearest Doctor, your call has been close; 
" In the future be careful ^ dotit take your own dose^ 
" But physic your patients, and fire them to me, 
"And I with gXQdiX. patience, will at last^r^ thee ! " 
" Ha, ha ! " laughed the Doctor, who relished all 

sport, 
" 'T is truly a blessing to have friends at court." 



Kind Words. 31 



KIND WORDS. 

A KIND word now and then, my boys, 
^^^ A kind word here and there, 
Will fill the weary world with joys 

And banish clouds of care ; 
Though life may sometimes seem all wrong 

And heaven far away, 
Don't lose your grip, just peg along. 

You '11 find that pluck will pay. 

Don't be ashamed nor 'fraid, my boys, 

To show that you 've a heart, 
Be bold and undismayed, my boys. 

But act a kindly part. 
Don't wait until your friends are dead 

Their virtues to unfold. 
Kind words in time, and timely said, 

Are worth their weight in gold. 

Don't lean too much on prayers, my boys, 

Just find your text in acts ; 
Be true, and fair, and square, my boys. 

Such preaching 's full of facts. 
With kind words now and then, my boys, 

With kind words here and there. 
Let 's fill the weary world with joys 

And banish clouds of care. 



32 Ranch Verses. 



COULD I BUT FLY ON SEABIRD'S WING. 

/'^OULD I but fly on seabird's wing 

^-^ To Youth's green island realms of yore, 

My restless spirit ne'er could cling 

To Manhood's dull and faded shore ; 
But with a free, exultant flight 

I 'd leave these chambered hours of care, 
And wing my way to dreams of light. 

To dwell 'midst castles in the air. 



Yes, there in Love's rare, rosy bowers 

I 'd gather garlands bright with Hope, 
Without one thought of wasted flowers 

Which withered on Ambition's slope. 
Then might I trill some bugle song 

Which nations yet unborn would sing, 
And Time might then my fame prolong. 

Could I but fly on seabird's wing. 



THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER. 

T N the spring-time of youth, in life's early morn- 
ing. 

When the blossoms were blowing from the old 
apple-trees, 

And wistaria vines with their purple adorning 



The Lovely Rosalie. 33 

Were wooing the zephyrs and rich yellow bees, 
The Prodigal came to the home of his leaving, 
Where he played in the daisies a light-hearted 

boy. 
And they welcomed him back, with the tears of 

receiving, 
And twining affection and murmurs of joy. 

When the cold winds of winter were sighing so 

dreary 
Around the old house by the murmuring shore, 
The Prodigal daughter, all tired and weary. 
Crept back to the home of her girlhood once 

more ; 
But they turned her away, o'er the moorland so 

lonely. 
And the winds of despair moaned wild through her 

breast. 
And death was her refuge, aye that, and that 

only. 
For the Prodigal daughter, alas, has no rest ! 



THE LOVELY ROSALIE. 

IN lively old New Jersey, where the laws are very 
blue. 
And the applejack 's the smoothest that a Texan 

ever knew ; 
Where commuters roam in thousands and New 

Yorkers often flee 
3 



34 Ranch Verses. 

From the giddy cares of Gotham to the softly mur- 
muring sea ; 
Where nobby Wall street brokers and Mugwumps 

often chat 
'Bout the glories of " weak fishing " round the bars 

at Barnegat ; 
Where they chase "imported beagles (?) " on the 

trail for anise-seed, 
With that kindly English hunter, F. M. Wheeler, 

in the lead ; 
Where the people are all ^^ culchawed" in that toney 

town Montclair, 
Which is noted for its beauties and pure, salubrious 

air ; 
Where abides the poet angler, known to fame as 

Dodge (H. C), 
It was there befell the wooing of the lovely 

Rosalie. 

Her eyes were like twin violets, suffused in pearly 

dew, 
Her cheeks bespoke the roses that twilight loves to 

woo ; 
She seemed like some fair flower, all loveliness in 

place, 
A bud of beauty breathing joy on willowy stem of 

grace; 
Her voice was low and lovely, as some rare old 

Spanish tune. 
And her laugh was full of music as a mocking-bird 

in June ; 



The Lovely Rosalie, 35. 

Her smiles were pure and pensive, as moonbeams 

on a stream, 
While her face possessed that beauty which gilds 

an Inness dream ; 
Indeed she was a Venus, such as Titian ne*er 

could paint. 
And her life was one sweet sermon, filled with 

precepts for a saint ; 
Oh, she seemed a queen from heaven, and if earthly 

angels be, 
Montclair should sing hosannahs for the lovely 

Rosalie. 

Her father was a merchant doing business in New 

York, 
With a high commercial rating for integrity and — - 

pork ! 
And the lovers came a-courting with their vapid 

city airs. 
And an eye, perhaps, for spending her father*s 

bonds and shares. 
But she sent them all a-sighing to " Hoboken " or 

" Soho," 
Till at last there came a wooer who made her bosom 

glow. 
He was gay and brown and handsome, with a wild 

and woolly air, 
And he came from Corpus Christi on a lively 

bronco mare. 
You would take him for a winner from the way he 

" sot his horse," 



36 Ranch Verses, 

You *d *' put your money on him " when he " can- 
tered round the course " ; 

Yet with all his " Western manners " he was noble, 
brave, and free, 

And she liked his honest purring, did the lovely 
Rosalie. 

She was tired of simpering fellows and dudef which 

fashion rears. 
And she listened now with shudders to tales of 

snakes and steers ; 
For he told her 'bout the prairies and ranches far 

away 
Where the centipedes are wooing the tarantulas at 

play. 
Where the rattlesnakes are basking in the sunshine 

on the sod, 
While the drowsy plains are breathing an azure 

dream of God. 
Where the birds are always singing in that breezy 

blossomed land, 
Near his cactus hacienda on the tawny Rio 

Grande. 
Then he hinted of adventures and the wealth that 

he 'd amassed, 
Till at length the maiden " loved him for the 

dangers he had passed " ; 
Oh, his bosom swelled with rapture, deep as the 

tropic sea. 
As he wooed this gentle lady, the lovely 

Rosalie. 



The Lovely Rosalie, 37 

Though he looked so rough and ready and appeared 

a little wild, 
He had great respect for women and was docile as 

a child ; 
But he scorned ignoble actions and all motives 

that were mean, 
For he 'd breathed the breath of heaven in a land 

where God is seen. 
And he hated false pretensions which the crooked 

city broods, 
For he learned his truths from Nature in the lonely 

solitudes ; 
Yes, his heart beat high but kindly, and affection 

strongly ran 
Through the beatific bosom of this " natural noble* 

man." 
So he wooed and won that blossom, the flower of all 

Montclair. 
And you '11 hear the happy sequel if you ever visit 

there, 
For he was a gallant lover, while his bride was fair 

to see, 
And New Jersey now is mourning for the lovely 

Rosalie. 



38 Ranch Verses, 

A COWBOY TO KIPLING. 

On reading his newspaper articles attacking the West. 

T T UH ! Kipling, we ar unto yew — 
•^ ^ We seen yer fairy tale 
About our Wild and Woolly West, 
Hence we ar on yer trail ! 

We liked yer stories uv the hills, 
For they wuz strong an' strange ; 

But when yew hit Chicawgo town, 
Yew really missed yer range. 

Thar want no Injuns in her streets 

Like yew had hoped tu find, 
An' 'cordin' tu the way yer writ, 

Her pace jest knocked yer blind. 

We noticed heow yer floundered 'round 
When yew hed lost yer cue — 

An' strange tu say, we likewise found 
Yer English wuzzent true ! 

We know thet we kin " whip the world,'*' 
An' beat yer yachts hull down. 

For all the world acknowledged this 
At New York an' Yorktown ! 



A Summer Girl. 39 

So stop yer swellin* ! pull yer freight — 

Fer India an' the brush ; 
Az Yankees hyar in every State, 

Iz sick uv Kipling slush ! 

Yes, sah ! we 're tired of Tenderfeet 

Awritin' Jip our West. 
Yew fellers 'lows she can't be beat. 

So give the kid a rest. 

We know yer like this country, sah. 

Great Scott ! yer make us laugh ! 
Yew bawlin' Gringo from the East 

Yew Maverick Indian calf ! 

Hit haint no us' ter pitch an' rar, 

Fer Texas hez the sand 
Tu rope yer tu her saddle bow 

An' burn yer with thet brand ! 



A SUMMER GIRL. 

O HE was queen of the hotel veranda, 
^^ " An heiress," 't was said, " from New York 
The dear chappies " could not understand her," 
But her beauty made every one talk. 

Oh, she ruled and she jilted and charmed me. 
And kept my sad heart in a whirl. 

And my feelings they really alarmed me. 
For I lived, " don't you know," for that girl. 



40 Ranch Verses. 

But the summer went by and we parted. 
And the season swept on to an end ; 

To the city I went broken-hearted, 
To dream of my heiress and friend. 

EX-PARTE. 

Weeks after, when snowflakes were flying, 
I strolled through a Fourteenth street store, 

Where I heard my divinity crying, 

" Cawsh, heah ! Hurry up, Twenty-fouah ! " 



BEYOND THE HARBOR BAR. 

O INCE thou must sail the seas of life, 
*^ Where storms and billows are, 
Steer for that blessed Port of Peace 

Beyond the harbor bar. 
Keep to your course ! Sail bravely on 

Toward mansions Over There ! 
Have Truth and Kindness for your crew, 

And Hope the pilot fair. 

Avoid the ragged rocks of Doubt ; 

Doubt is a dangerous reef ! 
Tack well off shore, stand boldly out 

Past shoals of Unbelief. 
Beware that narrow channel, Creeds ! 

Keep to the ocean broad. 
Where Charity swells deep with deeds 

Wide as the heart of God ! 



The Twinkle of Her Eyes, 41 

Starboard your helm — reach for the right ! 

Keep watch above — below ! 
Fly loyal colors to the breeze, 

No matter what gales blow. 
Sail bravely on — the beacon lights 

Are shining now afar, 
Withm Love's blessed Port of Peace, 

Beyond the harbor bar. 



THE TWINKLE OF HER EYES. 

• 

OENEATH dark curving lashes, 
^'^ Half-hidden from the sight, 
Behold those radiant flashes, 

Those gleams of curtained light. 
Their lustre gilds life's shadows 

Like gleams from starry skies. 
Here 's to my lady's twinkle — 

The twinkle of her eyes. 

Sly Cupid owns her glances ; 

He barbs his arrows there, 
For love hurls piercing lances 

From orbs of Beauty rare. 
Though Youth and Hope may wither, 

Fond Memory still will prize 
My lady's laughing twinkle — 

The twinkle of her eyes. 



42 Ranch Verses. 

Had I some poet's power 
To sing that witchery well, 

What wealth of songs I 'd shower 
To breathe their mystic spell—- 

What musical romances 
Of fabled loreleis 

Would echo of that twinkle — 

The twinkle of her ey«s. 



TO DIVES. 

" I ^HEN what of your silver and gold or estate 

'*■ When the last trial balance is cast ? 
The sums are the same — you may learn it too late — 
But the nickle that laughs on the cold coffin plate 
Will be all that you have at the last ! 

So strive for that wealth that is purer than gold, 

Wealth beyond all the cash of your mart — 
Its values are boundless, they cannot be told, 
It is prized above rubies but not bought and Sold— 
'T is the wealth of a kind noble heart I 



AN APRIL SONG— TO ALICE. 



'T^HY world is bright, fair Alice, 
^ Youth's April flowers are thine; 
Thy form is Beauty's palace, 
Thy bosorn Pleasure's shrine. 



A n April Song — To A lice, 43 

Rare are the rosy showers 

Which hope around thee flings, 

And gay the gilded hours 
When Love forever sings. 

But ah ! proud, pensive Alice, 

Youth's April cannot last, 
And Memory's yhrouded chalice 

Soon claims Life's radiant past ; 
And though thy charms may cherish 

The richer tints of June, 
They blossom but to perish, 

Alas ! alas ! too soon. 

There is a sigh of sorrow 

In every autumn day. 
Which whispers that to-morrow 

Earth's bloom must pass away ; 
Aye, youth's warm hopes will wither 

Beneath Time's chilling beams, 
And age has naught to gather 

But memories of youth's dreams. 

So cull life's April pleasures, 

And kindly act your part ; 
For kindness plants rare treasures 

In gardens of the heart. 
Then in thy calm December, 

'Midst Love's rare twilight rays, 
All hearts will still remember 

To bless thy years with praise. 



44 Ranch Verses, 



NEPTUNE'S STEEDS. 

TTARK to the wild nor'easter ! 
''■ ^ That long, long booming roar, 
When the Storm King breathes his thunder 

Along the shuddering shore. 
The shivering air re-echoes 

The ocean's weird refrain, 
For the wild white steeds of Neptune 

Are coming home again. 

No hand nor voice can check them, 

These stern steeds of the sea, 
They were not born for bondage, 

They are forever free. 
With arched crests proudly waving, 

Too strong for human rein. 
The wild white steeds of Neptune 

Are coming home again. 

With rolling emerald chariots 

They charge the stalwart strand, 
They gallop o'er the ledges 

And leap along the land ; 
With deep chests breathing thunder 

Across the quivering plain, 
The wild white steeds of Neptune 

Are coming home again. 



Neptune s Steeds, 45 

Not with the trill of bugles, 

But roar of muffled drums 
And shrouded sea-weed banners, 

That mighty army comes. 
The harbor bars are moaning 

A wail of death and pain, 
For the wild white steeds of Neptune 

Are coming home again. 

Well may the sailor women 

Look out to scan the lee. 
And long for absent lovers, 

Their lovers on the sea. 
Well may the harbored seamen 

Neglect the sails and seine, 
When the wild white steeds of Neptune 

Are coming home again. 

How sad their mournful neighing, 

That wailing, haunting sound ; 
It is the song of sorrow, 

A dirge for dead men drowned. 
Though we must all go seaward, 

Though our watchers wait in vain. 
The wild white steeds of Neptune 

Will homeward come again. 

Christmas Cove, Maine, 1892. 



46 Ranch Verses. 



ACROSTIC— EASTER BLOSSOMS. 

ALICE — MAY — ANNA. 

A LICE is a rosebud, a blossom on life's sea, 
■^ ^ Like the fair Aurora a rising queen is she, 
In realms of youth and fashion her beauty will amaze ; 
Command rare royal homage from all who chance 

to gaze, — 
Enduring joys, fair Alice, I fain would sing thy 

praise. 

May is a calla lily, a bud surpassing fair, 
Alluring, coy, elusive, as sunbeams wooing air ; 
Yes, May 's a lovely lily, a flower beyond compare. 

Anna is a violet, that blooms at early morn, 
'Neath jewelled dew-drops kisses where lissome love 

is born. 
No selfish thought attends her, rare loveliness she 

seems, 
Ah, Anna is my ideal, the idol of my dreams. 



EVENING ZEPHYRS. 

TI^AR, far away o'er the western horizon 
^ The sun sinks to rest on a couch of pure gold, 
And night spreads her mantle far over the moun- 
tains, 
As the star-spangled banners of heaven unfold. 



Evening Zephyrs, 47 

Alone in my hammock, alone by the water, 

Where soft southern zephyrs steal in from the sea ; 

When moonbeams are dimpling the face of the 
ocean, 
Ah, then comes the hour of sweet reverie. 

Then the busy old world is well-nigh forgotten, 
The dark clouds of life have all vanished away, 

And the beacons of hope shine afar in the future. 
As bright and as clear as the lights o'er the bay. 

Then rare pensive music sweeps over my heart- 
strings 
As rare and as pure as the mocking-bird's tune. 
When it sings in the twilight alone 'mid the palm 
trees 
Where the pale southern cross woos the shy, 
crescent moon. 

Then a proud, pensive face from the Mexican 
border 
Steals again to my side 'neath a magnolia tree ; 
And the river, the mesa, the old hacienda, 

Are the same as of old when my sad heart was 
free. 

But that 's long ago, and alas ! it 's all over ; 

The past cannot be ; let the future be bright. 
So farewell, my lost one, my fair senorita. 

One long last farewell and a kiss of good-night. 

Atlantic Highlands, N. J, 



48 Ranch Verses, 



THE RANCHMAN'S SONG. 

A FAR from the tumult and turmoil of fashion, 
'^*- Away, far away, from the throng that intrudes ; 
I am free from all envy and malice and passion, 
For my spirit expands in the wild solitudes. 

I love the broad prairie, the norther's sad sighing, 
The whispering stars, and the owl's lone hoo, 

The mocking-bird's song when the twilight is 
dying, 
The cayote's weird call as it echoes "ki-oo." 

Wild nature to me is a thing that I cherish ; 

I hate the dull discords that cities have shown ; 
For there out of tune my free spirits all perish ; 

Let me dwell near to nature with my ideals alone. 

Better live rich at heart on a crust in a garret. 
Than languish in mansions impoverished with 
strife ; 

There is joy in a dugout, if fancy but share it 
With hope and fond memory to brighten thy life. 

There 's a zest amidst hardship which some natures 
treasure, 

A charm on the prairies that care cannot cloy ; 
So, avaunt ! ye dull follies of fashionable pleasure, 

Give me the wild pleasures that ranchmen enjoy. 



A Message, 49 



A MESSAGE. 



pRETTY blossom on the prairies, where the 

^ breezes play, 

Dost thou know my lovely lady, hast thou seen 

her — say ? 
She is like thee in her beauty, for her eyes are 

violet blue, 
And her cheeks are fairest lilies which the roses 

love to woo. 



Mocking-bird that singeth gayly midst the bowers 
of spring. 

Dost thou know my bonnie lassie, hast thou heard 
her sing ? 

She is like thee, always happy, and her voice re- 
sembles thine. 

Ah ! her laugh *s an airy echo of thy liquid notes 
divine. 

Lovely sunbeam, kissing beauty, blessings on thy 

ray, 
Dost thou know my blushing beauty, hast thou kissed 

her, pray ? 
She is like thee, gleam from heaven, pure and 

cheerful as thou art. 

And she blesses all who know her, with the sun- 

shine of her heart. 
4 



50 Ranch Verses, 

Perfumed zephyr, softly sighing, o'er the tropic sea, 
Take this message to my lady, waft it now from 

me. 
Woo, oh ! woo her, sigh it ever, breathe my story 

in a line ; 
Softly tell her that I love her, gently ask her to be 

mine. 



A KING'S DAUGHTER. 

A. G. C. 

O HE is pretty as a picture, 
*^ She is gentle as a fawn, 
She is radiant as the sunbeams 
That kiss the lips of dawn. 

She is fairer than the flowers 
That dream of tropic seas, 

She is purer than the zephyrs 
That woo the orange trees. 

She is winsome as a fairy, 
She has gentle, kindly ways ; 

And sweet lips ever ready 
To speak another's praise. 

She has higher aims than fashion, 
She is noble, kind and true ; 

She believes in " helping others," 
And the good that she can do. 



To May in Paris, 5? 

She is thoughtful of her mother, 
She 's a blessing from above ; 

Yes, her life 's a gentle sermon. 
Full of hope and joy and love. 

She is cheerful as the sunshine, 

She is kind to everything ; 
She is lovely as an angel — 

She 's a " Daughter of the King." 



TO MAY IN PARIS. 

M. H. C. 

SHE 's a lovely fairy fay, is my pensive Cousin 
May, 

She 's divine. 
She is gentle, she is wise, yet there 's laughter in 
her eyes. 

Beauty's shrine. 

She has lovers by the score, beaux and cavaliers 
galore. 

In her train. 
Ah, they woo this lovely prize, with sad looks and 
wistful sighs. 

But in vain. 

Lo, I see her now afar, as she wins from her 
guitar, 

Some refrain. 



52 Ranch Verses. 

Where the twilight bells of France echo songs of 
rare romance, 

O'er the Seine. 

She 's a wreath of fairest flowers culled from 
morning's jewelled bowers, 
In Life's spring. 
And though winter 's here to-day I abide in dreams 
of May, 

Whom I sing. 



ECHOES. 

/^N the lonely tawny prairie 
^-^ When the night is still and deep, 
And the breathing stars are shimmering 
O'er a landscape rich with sleep ; 

Where the mournful night-winds sighing 
Wake the drowsy murmuring trees, 

And afar some lonely curlew 
Coos her sorrows to the breeze ; 

Then within my haunted chamber, 
Pensive by the embers' glow, 

Then, ah then, come shadowy fancies 
From the vaults of long ago. 

Where are they, those hopes and visions, 
Dreams of love and joy and truth? 

Flown, alas ! all, all have vanished 
On the fluttering wings of youth. 



The Old Homestead. 53 

Where are they, those fond old faces, 

Loved of yore, and oh, so fair ? 
Where are now those silent voices ? 

And the echoes answer — where ? 

Where all the boughs and blossoms 

Of life's radiant, rosy dawn ? 
Withered ! aye, like rarest roses. 

And the echoes whisper — gone ! 



THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 

TO MR. AND MRS. S. W. SEARS. 

TJ* NSHRINED in my heart is an old-fashioned 
•^^ homestead, 

Alone on the heights, in the woods by the sea, 
I love its old rafters and wide, honest chimneys, 
Where kindness enkindled warm welcomes for me. 
How fair are the faces that often have gathered 
Around 'mid the roses that grew by the door ; 
But the faces will fade, and the roses must vanish, 
And the places that knew them will know them no 
more. 

How oft in the morn, 'neath the old silver maples, 
I have dreamed on that lawn sloping down to the 

bay, 
Where I watched the white sails of the out-going 

vessels 



54 Ranch Verses. 

Drift on toward the sky, till they vanished away. 
Ah, where are the ships of life's early morning, 
Youth freighted with hopes and the treasures of 

yore ? 
Alas, they have gone, like the barks sailing seaward. 
And the hearts that once knew them will know 

them no more. 

When the twilight has flown through the flushes of 

evening, 
And the moonbeams fall soft on the silvery foam — 
What music, and voices, and lovers with laughter 
Have dwelt in the fragrance around that old home. 
But the music must cease, and the voices grow 

silent, 
And the lovers will part when their kisses are o'er, 
For the roses must fade, and the faces float sky- 
ward. 
And the old homes that knew them will know them 
no more. 



DECLINED. 

SHE. 



" /'^OME back, dear Tom," she wrote to say, 
^-' " To you I 've been unkind ; 
So name our earliest bridal day, 
For I have changed my mind." 



To a Coquette, 55 



HE. 



'* Thank you," writes Tom, ** I beg to state 
Your overture 's declined ; 
Our wedding *s off — there is no date — 
I too have changed my mind ! " 



TO A COQUETTE. 

T T ER wit is like some diamond bright 
•^ •*■ Wherein rare powers combine. 
'T is brilliant as a flash of light ; 
*T will cut as well as shine. 

Her eyes are like her wit, I swear, 

They also play rare parts ; 
And Love holds brilliant jewels there 

To gild or pierce our hearts. 

She reigns a queen in Fashion's court, 
But wisdom breathes "beware ! " 

A shattered heart is not my forte," 
And prudence sighs " Take care ! " 

Alas ! alas ! She *s too refined. 
Her arts too fair I 've found. 

Her wit and charms are all designed 
To dazzle and to wound. 

So, lovely lady, we must part. 

'T were vain in me to try 
To keep thy hollow, fickle heart — 

I give it up ! Good-bye ! 



56 Ranch Verses, 

THE OLD TEXAN IN NEW YORK. 

TO CAPT. JOHN MILSAP. 

T T UH ! Sal, this life won't soot me, 
-*■ -*■ This russlin' an' these kyars ; 
I 'm pantin' fer the praira, 

The great wide whisperin* stars ! 
Yew ar a tolerable daughter, 

Yer Yankee husband 's kind, 
But these swift ways uv livin* 

Don't fit my steddy mind. 

This rushin* an' er chargin' 

Ter me seems powerful strange ; 
Thar hain't no grass nor watter ; 

I 'm lost on this yeer range. 
New York 's a human round-up 

Uv fun an' fuss an' care, 
But I 'm er — suff ercatin' — 

I want the broad blue air! 

I hate the shows uv cities, 

They goes ag'in my youth ; 
I lov' the tarnal mountains 

Wot pints tu God an' Truth ! 
Thar kyant be no decepshun, 

Whar Nature hews the line ; 
I *m sick uv curvin* fashions, 

I want things straight in mine. 



Man, 57 

This roarin* canyon, Broadway, 

Iz drowndin' all my powers ; 
Giv' me our lazy rivers 

Wot dreams through seas uv flowers. 
Hit hain't no use ter coax me, 

Yer know I 'm powerful sot — 
I aim ter quit yer corral. 

Hit 's not my campin' spot. 

So, Sal, I 'm fixed ter leave yer ; 

Jes tell 'em all good-by ; 
I 'm gwine back tu Texas, 

Ter stay thar till I die. 
I 'm lonesum fer the praira, 

The ole home uv my youth, 
I 'm needin' uv them mountains, 

Wot pints tu God — an' Truth ! 



MAN. 

■'MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST AND WHERE IS HE?' 

1\ /r AN lives and dies ! What more know we 1 
IVX With all our pomp and pride. 
'Midst wealth or fame or poverty. 

We know this much — "he died." 
What lived he for ? To learn, alas. 

That he could nothing know. 
To sip the sweets from pleasure's glass, , 

Or drain the depths of woe. 



58 Ranch Verses. 

We play awhile 'midst childhood's dreams 

Or muse in youth's gay bowers, 
Then glide along on time's swift streams 

Through sunshine or through showers. 
At length 'midst manhood's billows cast 

We battle trouble's waves 
Which sweep us on, we learn at last, 

To quick-forgotten graves. 

Fair budding youth and fruitful age 

And beauty's radiant bloom 
Are closely twined in life's dim stage, 

And destined for the tomb. 
We can not know just what we are, 

Nor dream of what we '11 be ; 
We know this much — man giveth up 

The ghost, then where is he ? 



THAT LITTLE BOY. 

T T IS merry voice is silent now, 
-^ -*- His hat is hanging there, 
And yet I see his wistful eyes 
And sunny, waving hair. 

To-night I hear his voice again, 
That laugh of love and joy— 

His pouting sighs — those words of pain, 
" Iz I a naughty boy ? " 



A Serenade. 59 

Once more I see his noble brow 

And tangled, curly head, 
Oh, how I long to kiss him now 

Within his trundle-bed. 

The sturdy horse he used to pet 

Stands by his silent drum. 
His woolly dog is waiting yet — 

Oh why then don't he come ? 

Alas ! he *s gone far, far away. 
To heavenly mansion's fair. 

He romps no more, he 's tired of play- 
He *s dreaming — " Over There." 



A SERENADE. 

"T^EAR lovely lady, dream no more, 
^^ Unclose thy radiant eyes. 
The moonlight gilds the lonely shore, 

Night's jewels crown the skies. 
Here, here alone beside the sea. 

Beneath yon shimmering star, 
I tune my slumbering lyre for thee. 

And touch the light guitar. 

Hark ! hear the soft vibrations ring 

Upon the listening air, 
To thee I play, my love, and sing. 

Oh, do not slumber there ; 



6o Ranch Verses, 

The wooing zephyr breathes its sighs, 

Sad sobs the whispering sea, 
The lonely echo's wail replies, 

All Nature longs for thee. 

So leave thy couch and heavenly dreams, 

Come where the lilies bloom, 
Come while the night's rare pensive beams 

Are lost in flowered perfume. 
For here alone beside the sea. 

Beneath yon listening star, 
I tune my slumbering lyre for thee, 

And touch the light guitar. 



TEXAS. 

TO JUDGE A. H. WILLIE. 

T CRAVE not for her cities 
-■■ Nor towns where man hath trod, 
But I love her lonely prairies, 
Her great wide skies of God. 

I love her lazy rivers 

That wed the Mexique Sea, 

And oh, her heaven-born breezes 
Breathe rarest songs to me. 



Texas, 6 1 

Oh, if I could but sing them, 
Could hymn pure Nature's bars, 

Those songs would live forever 
And echo through the stars. 

Would echo till the angels 

Attuned the free refrains. 
And breathed celestial music — 

The poetry of the plains ! 

I love the Mesa Mountains 

That woo the Texas skies, 
'Neath azure veils of beauty, 

They dream of Paradise. 

1 love her sweeps of distance. 

Her drowsy miraged seas. 
Her choirs of singing songsters, 

Her weeping bannered trees. 



And when the sunset's laces 
Befringe the couch of night, 

I love her royal pictures 
Of far eternal light. 

Oh, if I could but paint them. 
Could hint the twilight's art. 

What scenes of heavenly splendor 
Would gild each human heart. 



62 Ranch Verses* 

Vain, vain such fond ambition, 
Man is but earthy sod, 

His efforts are as nothing 
Beside the works of God. 

Yes ; you can have the city, 
Its fuss and fun and care, 

Give me a life of freedom, 
'Midst castles in the air ! 

Your operas' stifled music 
Contains no songs for me,— ^ 

I want the vibrant breezes, 
The anthems of the sea. 

Give me the low of cattle, 
The cayotes lone " ki-oo I " 

The sighings of the Norther, 
The owls' " whit-tu-woo ! " 

I ask not for companions 

Whose presence might intrude ; 

My dearest friend is Nature, — 
I love the solitude. 

Ah, who would then be richer ? 

My wealth is all divine — 
The clouds, the stars, the prairies, 

The world, the world, is mine. 



The Yachtsman s Song, 63 



THE YACHTSMAN'S SONG. 

TO LEWIS QUENTIN JONES, NEW YORK YACHT 

CLUB. 

T T O, comrades ! Up anchor ! 
-■■ -■■ Set sail and away — 
The tide is now rising, 
There is life on the bay. 

The first flush of morning 

Illumines the clouds, 
And a fair wind from heaven 

Is wooing the shrouds. 

The lapping wave ripples 

And kisses the side ; 
Our vessel swings seaward 

To stem the flood tide. 

The mainsa'l is flapping 

And tugs at the mast, 
The traveller is rattling, 

The breeze freshens fast. 

Our bowsprit is plunging- 
It longs to be free. 

The billows are rolling. 
Hurrah for the sea ! 



64 Ranch Verses, 

Haul taut the peak halyards, 
Stand fast at the wheel ! 

The water scuds past us 
And boils at the keel ! 

Let go on the mainsa'l, 
Look out for the boom — 

Ye gods, this is glorious ! 
This briny perfume. 

She heels to the starboard, 
Hurrah for the spray ! 

Like a seabird of morning 
She is off and away ! 



WOULD N'T YOU? 

T MET her at dusk 'midst the clover, 
^ In the old orchard path by the sea. 
She blushed as she turned to walk over, 

Then shyly stood glancing at me. 
She was fair as the flowers of morning 

And pure as the first breath of dew, 
So, while her rose flushes were dawning 

I — well, it 's no matter to you. 

Sly Cupid had well planned the meeting, 
For love lingered nigh on the breeze ; 

And the twilight observing my greeting 
Returned a warm kiss to the trees. 




"like a sea-bird of morning she is off and away.' 



The Parson Pickax Gray. 65 

As the zephyrs were wooing the ocean, 
And the doves were beginning to woo, 

And the world seemed intense with devotion, 
I — well, it 's no matter to you. 

The soft evening shadows soon found us. 

While the clover breathed forth its perfume ; 
And Night drew her curtain around us 

And left us alone in the gloom. 
What I told her you will not discover — 

'T was a story that ever proves new, 
For I — well, I was her lover. 

And I kissed her, of course ! Would n't 
you ? 



THE PARSON PICKAX GRAY. 

T N ole days in Californy, in the yar uv forty-nine, 
-*- When we russled round the diggings fer golden 

yeller shine. 
When money wuz er plenty an' fellers all wuz flush, 
An' times wuz jest a whoopin' an' life wuz full uv 

rush ; 
When "likker flowed like watter," an' monte men 

wuz gay, 
'T wuz then I knowed the parson, the " Parson 

Pickax Gray." 

This dom-nee "rid the circle" jest "slinging' out 

the word," 
s 



66 Ranch Verses, 

An' when he pozed fer preechin', the grimy sinners 

heard ; 
Fer the parson wuzzent fancy in his labors fer the 

Lord, 
No, sah ! he 'd thunder at 'em like a howitzer of 

God! 
He wuz chuck full uv the spirit, the plain an* 

honest kind, 
An' he 'd sway his miner aujence like a forest in a 

wind, 
Fer his heart wuz full uv feelin's for his strugglin' 

feller-man. 
An' he 'd chip in his last dollar ter help him " dust 

his pan." 
But he never thought uv givin' fer the sake of 

winnin' fame. 
Like speculatin' sharpers investin' fer a name ! 
No, sah ! he give hit nateral, ez fair an' square an' 

free. 
As breezes from the Rockies that sweep the west- 
ern sea ; 
An' he wuz allers happy, fer he did the best he 

could 
Ter practise all his preechin' in tryin' ter do good. 
Yet he sized up every feller accordin' tu his worth, 
He knowed the rich pay gravel from false pre- 

tendin' earth. 
An' he 'd give each man full credit in perportion 

to his weight ; 
Then he 'd round up every rascal till he 'd pull his 

wicked freight, 



The Parson Pickax Gray. 6y 

Fer he wuzzent 'fraid of nothin' — he wuz bound to 

have his say, 
Oh, he give 'em straight religion, did that " Parson 

Pickax Gray." 



Though he had no fancy pulpit, or church with 

lofty spire. 
He corralled crowds uv sinners, an' giv* 'em all — 

hell fire ! 
He 'd crawl upon some bowlder, or mount an ole 

tree stump, 
Shufflin' through his Scriptur' deck until he 'd cut 

his trump ! 
He 'd loosen out his buzzum, fer he seldom wore a 

coat, 
He 'd ante up, then deal his text an' preech with- 
out er note ; 
He 'd crevice through the Bible, an' mine hits 

wealth untold, 
Then shovel out salvation in nuggets uv pure gold. 
His truths would roll like thunder around thet 

human sod, 
Till at times he seemed transfiggered an' peered tu 

" walk with God." 
Oh, he pruned thet human vineyard an' driv' his 

gospel pick 
Through the bed-rock of perdition till he made 

the devil sick ! 
An' the boys yelled hallelujah ! an' ole sinners 

crossed the line — 



68 Ranch Verses. 

Huh ! I tell yer, that wuz preechin' in them days 

of forty-nine. 
His prayers wuz like a cloud-burst upon Sin's 

mountain height, 
They 'd wash them delvin' miners out uv darkness 

inter light, 
Till they clutched the Rock of Ages an' hauled 

theirselves ashore. 
An' quit Sin's gloomy gulches an' sluiceways ever- 
more. 
An* when we sang the finish to " Praise Him Here 

Below," 
A shimmerin' halo drifted 'round that aujence 'bout 

ter go. 
Then cum the benediction ; that wuz his greatest 

charm, 
A soothin', heavenly rainbow uv peace an' love an* 

balm. 
Thet wuz a preecher fer yer, that acted out his 

part ; 
He wuzzent much on polish, but panned out in 

his heart. 
And when the Great Jehovah shall come at Judg- 
ment Day 
He '11 call that good ole feller, " The Parson Pickax 

Gray." 



A San Antonio Memory, 69 



A SAN ANTONIO MEMORY. 

T N old San Antonio city, 

-*- Where the soldiers' bugles blow, 

Dwelt a lady proud and stately, 

Years and years and years ago. 
Dark was she, this Senorita, 

Lovely as some queen of Spain, 
And her voice was soft, and sweeter 

Than the songs of summer rain. 

There she lived beside a river. 

Where the winding waters flow 
On and on and on forever, 

To the Gulf of Mexico. 
There in dreams of Spanish splendor, 

Midst a grove of stately trees, 
Stood her gray old hacienda, 

Home of birds and flowers and bees. 

Ah, that dear, old-fashioned garden 

With its wealth of rare perfume, 
Seemed of old a glimpse of Eden, 

Lost in tangled bowers of bloom. 
There the night-winds sobbed their stories 

Round some lonely little mounds ; 
There the mosses* drooping glories 

Draped a family's burying-grounds. 



70 Ranch Verses, 

There of old we often pondered, 

Listening to the waters flow ; 
There of old we talked and wandered, 

Years and years and years ago. 
Oft when twilight's kiss was stealing 

O'er the skies in golden beams. 
And the mission bells were pealing 

Vesper songs of poet's dreams. 

We would seek some seat embowered 

'Neath the old magnolia trees, 
Where the zephyrs' kisses showered 

Rarest fragrance to the breeze. 
There we dreamed beside that river. 

There we heard the bugles trill. 
Till the echoes seemed to quiver 

Through the evening calm and still. 

Then my lady of the villa 

Soft would strum her light guitar. 
To some tune of old Sivella, 

Or some song from Alcazar. 
Ah, those old extravaganzas. 

How they soothed my restless heart ; 
Ah, those dreamy, sad romanzas 

From my life will ne'er depart. 

But to-night I 'm sad and weary. 
Listening to the Northers blow, 

For the wind is wild and dreary, 
And I dream of long ago. 



The Cynic and Poet. yi 

Gone is now that hacienda, 

Gone that garden known of yore ; 

Hushed, alas, that voice so tender — 
Hushed, and lost forever more. 



THE CYNIC AND POET. 

A CYNIC once said to a poet, 
'^~*' " Fie, fie, you gay piper of song ; 
Your tunes are all lies, and you know it ; 

You know that this life is all wrong ; 
You sing about Hope in gay measures, 

While the Future is shrouded in mist, 
How can you keep piping of pleasures 

When you know that they do not exist ? 
You know that this life means confusion, 

That time is enshrouded with care. 
That joy is a fancied delusion 

Which dwells in a castle of air ; 
You know that the world 's full of sorrow, 

That Love is a lost dream of youth. 
That Hope is a dream of to-morrow. 

So tell us the Present's sad truth ! " 

" Ha ! ha," laughed the gay, jolly poet, 
*' The truth is I 'm sorry for you ; 

You hate the whole world, and you know it, 
*T is a pity alas ! but it 's true. 

And yet the old world does n't mind it, 
It thinks far too much of itself ; 



72 Ranch Verses, 

So why not take life as you find it, 

And stop growling there on the shelf ? 
Of course there is trouble and sorrow, 

Of course there is sadness and gloom, 
But Hope is the beacon to borrow, 

And Love is life's purest perfume ; 
So leave your dry husks, my dear fellow, 

Life's pastures are blooming to-day ; 
Grow cheerful, be kinder, grow mellow, 

Believe me, you '11 find ' it will pay.* " 



ODE TO THE NORTHER. 

nPHRICE welcome to the Norther, 
-*■ The Norther roaring free. 
Across the rolling prairies 

Straight from the Arctic sea ! 
Avaunt, ye western breezes 

And southern zephyrs warm ! 
Here 's to the cold, blue Norther, 

The stern, relentless storm ! 

I 'm tired of love and laughter. 

To-night I long for war ; 
For the bugle blasts are sounding 

From the heights of Labrador. 
" Whoo-hoo ! " the winds are wailing 

Their muffled reveilles, 
And 'round my chimney fortress 

Roar angry, shoreless seas. 



The Dying Actor s Soliloquy. 73 

Wild storms and wants and dangers 

Will thrill a poet's heart, 
And free his Viking spirit 

Far more than feeble art. 
So welcome to the storm wind ! 

The Northers I invoke. 
Here 's to the strong, gray weather 

That makes the heart of oak ! 



THE DYING ACTOR'S SOLILOQUY, 

T IFE'S farce is nearly ended, 
-*-' Nature recalls her debt, 
I, whom the world attended. 
The world will soon forget. 
My part so full of sorrow 
Will end e'er dawns the morrow, 
And, ah, 't is vain to borrow 
One sigh from sad regret. 

I, who so long did cherish 

Rich dreams of joy and fame, 
Am doomed, alas, to perish 
Without a home or name. 
No loving lips to bless me, 
Nor hands to once caress me, 
Nor priest to e'en confess me, 
I go from whence I came. 



74 Ranch Verses, 

The night is dark and dreary, 

The fire burns low within, 
And, oh, the world seems weary 
Of so much grief and sin. 
The cold sad rain is pouring. 
The winds and waves are roaring 
Like demons wild imploring 
Of demons sure to win. 

Slow falls the great green curtain, 

Life's tragedy is done. 
For Death must win as certain 
As shines to-morrow's sun. 
The sod and sea will cover 
Each maiden, man and lover, 
And I so long a rover, 
Sure rest at last have won. 



\ 



THE MAINE COAST. 

TO HARRY FENN. 

COME away, gentle reader, to the cool coast of 
Maine, 
Where the partridge is whirring his drum. 
Where the red squirrel " chees " in the ragged birch 

trees. 
And the air is pure wine from the casks of the seas, 
Come away, gentle reader, oh, come. 

Here the woodlands and mountains are wed to 

the sea. 
And the spirit expands with the view ; 




THE MAINE COAST. 

OTTER CLIFFS, NEAR BAR HARBOR. 



The Maine Coast, 75 

Here in cool shady groves the red Indian roves, 
And o'er the smooth waters of beautiful coves 
He paddles his birch canoe. 

Here the seal and the heron haunt the rocks and 

the waves, 
And the ocean is lost in the sky ; 
Here the wild aster grows and the goldenrod 

glows. 
And life is a rapturous dream of repose, 
Hushed to sleep with the sea's lullaby. 

Here afar in the offing the proud ships appear 

Like pale vanishing ghosts on the lee, 

Their bowed sails drift on till they fade and are 

gone 
To some far distant realm toward the fair land of 

dawn, 
Past the long level lines of the sea. 

Ah, these islands and forests all hint of the past, 

Of old memories and legends of years. 

For the haunted night breeze whispers tales to the 

trees 
Of phantom-rigged vessels on shimmering seas, 
And of smugglers and bold buccaneers. 

Here the sun sets at evening o'er mountains of 

light 
Far away beyond rivers of gold ; 



^6 Ranch Verses. 

Here the tall pine tree's crest fringe the gates of the 

West 
And life is a dream, a pure halo of rest 
'Midst charms that can never be told. 
Bar Harbor, Maine, 1891. 



"MAVERICK BILL.'* 

T MET him at the round-ups on the Double 

^ Mountain Fork, 

This Viking of the prairies, who " never seed New 
York." 

He wore a big sombrero and waving raven 
hair, 

His eyes were winter sunbeams and lightning slum- 
bered there ; 

He hailed from Mississippi, from Natchez 'neath 
the hill, 

But he 'd lived " yars in Texas " — frontiersman 
Maverick Bill. 

Somehow we got acquainted, riding behind those 

steers, 
And Bill commenced his talking of days in other 

years ; 
He 'd " fit them lively Yankees ! Yes, sah, you 'd fit 

*em too, 
If friends an' scads an' niggers wuz bein' took 

from you ! " 



'' Maverick Biliy jy 

He showed me scars of bullets received at Malvern 
Hill, 

He 'd lost three of his fingers — the soldier, Maver- 
ick Bill. 



At last we camped and rested beneath the moun- 
tain's spire, 

I staked the broncho ponies, while Bill prepared 
the fire ; 

And then the stars came staring upon that lonely 
scene. 

The lustrous moon rose slowly, from out the foliage 
green ; 

At length we started singing — his voice was rich 
and shrill, — 

The list'ning wilderness just rang with tuneful 
Maverick Bill. 



He sang the "Swanee River" — he "only knowed 
one part "; 

He hummed sweet " Annie Laurie," a song that 
touched my heart. 

Too soon he ceased, and silence fell softly o'er the 
plain. 

Although the mournful night wind still sighed its 
sad refrain. 

Wild Nature's son grew gentle, I saw the moon- 
light fill 

The manly, rapt'rous bosom of pensive Maverick 
Bill. 



78 Ranch Verses, 

Said he to me : " Young feller, I know them stars 

iz eyes 
Of angels gone to glory — the glories in the skies ; 
I 'spect my little mother iz lookin' at me — squar ! 
She went ter find our Fanny — the fambly's over 

thar ! 
Sometimes upon these prairies thet I so oft hev 

trod, 
I feels so high-falutin' — I kinder walks with God ! 

" There iz a good Great Spirit — He 's whispered in 

my ear — 
An' this iz whar He 's livin'. He talks ter-night — 

right hyar ! 
Some time perhaps I '11 find Him, though thet seems 

kinder strange, 
But some day perhaps, young feller, perhaps I '11 

quit the range I 
I '11 go ter Mississippi an' git my boyhood's home, 
I '11 live thar by the rivah an' cease ter cuss an' 

roam. 

" I '11 hunt my good ole parson an' help him with 
hiz church, 

I '11 git them naber's young uns from off their poor- 
house perch, 

I '11 find my ole Aunt Sally — she allers called me 
wild — 

But still she seemed ter like me — leastways she 
allers smiled 



" Maverick Bill:* 79 

When I stole her fig sweetmeats behind the kitchen 

door, 
She never went ag'in me — I '11 pay her back — an' 

more. 

" An thar, ah, thar 's another, I loved her, shore an* 

true. 
But I wuz rough and reckless, an' wuzzent made 

ter woo. 
Ah, she wuz jest an angel, an' I wuz all ter blame. 
But ever since my boyhood, I 've loved her jest the 

same ; 
An' now ter-night, young feller, I 'd give my life, I 

say, 
Ter know thet she iz livin', an' happy far away." 

He ceased — the winds came sighing across the 

prairies free, 
And wooing slumber kissed the eyes of Maverick 

Bill and me. 
The morning light came smiling across the misty 

streams, 
And choirs of singing songsters dispelled my airy 

dreams. 
I nudged my grim companion — but oh, his looks ! 

how strange ! 
My God ! Bill's songs were over — Dead Bill had 

quit the range ! 



8o Ranch Verses. 



A BAREFOOTED BOY. 

P" XHAUSTED to-night by the fire's dim glow 
■*^^ I unconsciously dream of the past ; . 
My spirit returns to the lost long ago, 

To youth's visions too lovely to last. 
Oh, yes, I recall them — those pleasures I had 

When life was a gay dream of joy. 
Ah — I was a happy-go-lucky young lad 

When I was a barefooted boy. 

I loved the old farm and its gnarled apple-trees, 

The daisies and buttercups there ; 
Then life was all music and flowers and bees, 

For I dwelt amidst castles of air. 
I remember my sire ! his tough hickory gad ! 

Time cannot such memories destroy. 
Ah — I was an active and sinewy lad 

When I was a barefooted boy. 

I recall Toney's brook and the cool swimmin' hole, 

The chug ! chug ! of Moran's water-mill ; 
No grapes were so sweet as the grapes that we 
stole 

From the vines on Hank Hamilton's hill. 
How often I raced with that farmer so mad, 

His temper I seemed to annoy ! 
Ah — I was a lively, quick-stepping young lad 

When I was a barefooted boy. 



What is Life ? %\ 

Ah, what a brave trapper was I long ago, 

How I made the red Indians fly ! 
Where are those rich maidens I rescued from woe ? 

Old Sleuth, a detective, was I. 
And where is the queen that my boyish heart had, 

Who treated my love like a toy ? 
Ah — I was a. foolish^ romantic young lad 

When I was a barefooted boy. 

I remember the neighbor's stray Sir Thomas cats, 

And my fights with the hired man's son ; 
That school exhibition, where I hollered out — Rats! 

And those dogs that I slugged with my gun. 
But to-night I am weary, exhausted, and sad, 

The future for me has no joy — 
For this yelling infant — of which I 'm the dad ! 

Will soon be a — barefooted boy ! 



WHAT IS LIFE? 

A H, what is life ? A bubble blown 
*^*^ Across Time's mystic stream ; 
Its secret source, alas ! unknown ; 
Its future — still a dream ? 

Ah, what is life ? A selfish hour, 
A thrill of thought and breath, 

A bud which blossoms to a flower 
That withers soon in death ? 

6 



82 Ranch Verses. 

Ah, what is life ? An echo's sound, 

A passing sunbeam's glow, 
A search for something never found, 

A pilgrimage of woe ? 

Ah, what is life ? A shoreless sea 
That *s swept by gales of sorrow, 

A tear perhaps to-day for thee, 
Oblivion for to-morrow ? 

No ! life *s a river broad and deep 

That flows to fairer seas 
Through pale mysterious realms of sleep 

To God's eternities. 



I'M SAD TO-NIGHT. 

RONDEAU. 

T *M sad to-night — alone am I 
^ Where weary sea-birds soar and fly 
Around a dreary, brooding shore 
Where grieving billows wail and roar 
Beneath a gloomy sky. 
" Farewell," the lonely zephyrs sigh ; 
The autumn winds all breathe " Good-by. 
So while the leaves and torrents pour, 
I 'm sad to-night. 



Who Knows ? 83 

I would that thou, dear girl, wert nigh 
To cheer me with thy radiant eye. 
But no, alas ! thou comest no more, 
Too soon, too soon my dream was o'er. 
Too well thou know'st the reason why 
I 'm sad to-night. 



WHO KNOWS? 

A SONG. 

' I "HROUGH the meadows she is coming, 

Where the birds and bees are humming 

Songs of June. 
From beyond the daisies swinging 
Drifts the song my lady 's singing — 

A love tune. 

How the dewdrops dance and glisten, 
How the landscape seems to listen 

While she sings ! 
Ah, her voice is pure and airy 
As the trillings of a fairy, 

How it rings ! 

See the sunbeams dance and quiver 
With delight on yonder river. 

Calm, serene. 
E'en the bobolinks and thrushes 
Listen now on bending rushes 

To my queen. 



84 Ranch Verses, 

Will she frown if I should meet her ? 
Will she blush if I should greet her 

With a rose ? 
Will she banish me forever 
If I tell her that I love her? 

Ah, who knows ! 



A TEXAS " LAMB," OR THE COWBOY IN 
WALL STREET. 

T WUZ riz on a ranch in ole Texas, yer know, 
■■■ Whar we growed the wild steers an' all sich. 
But the bizness plum played — so I thought I 'd 
jest go 

To sum city an' aim to git rich ; 
I had heerd uv New York — an' the stockmen up 
thar. 

Them brokers that range on Wall street. 
I WUZ posted on bulls, I hed carved up a bar, 

An' allowed az I could n't be beat. 

I got shet uv my cattle at ole Abilene, 

An' the kyars to ole Gotham I took. 
Jee whiz ! Wot a town ! The sights thet I seen 

Would fill up a powerful book. 
Well, I mozied around an' loafered awhile, 

Fer I soon struck a good campin'-spot ; 
But at last I concluded I 'd add to my pile, 

Fer the money is thar — to be got. 




WALL STREET. 



A Texas " Lambr 85 

So I went to a feller wot hed a big name 

Fer keepin' uv thoroughbred stock ; 
An* when I had studied the neat little game 

I anteed fer quite a peert block. 
Well, the market it riz at the big stock exchange, 

An' I seed I wuz playin' to luck. 
Now, wuzzent I proud ? I owned the hull range, 

Fer a fortune I reckon'd I 'd struck. 

So I kept on a playin', I staked my last lump, 

All my money an' scads from the steers ; 
But all uv a suddint thar cum a big slump, 

An' I lost all my savin's uv years. 
Then I ciphered an' figgered an' ciphered around, 

Till I give the hull bizness a d — m ! 
My scads they wuz gone — I pretty soon found 

Thet I wuz "a Texas sheared lamb." 

Yes, thet 's what they called me — a peert kind uv 
name — 

Then I seen I wuz green, an' wuz fooled ; 
I hed staked my hull wad on some other chap's 
game, 

Some feller perhaps like Jay Gould ; 
So I gethered my ole paper gripsack again 

(Thar wuz nothin' else fer me to do) ; 
An' I pulled my sad freight to an outgoin' train, 

An* vamoosed the town P. D. Q. 



86 ■ Ranch Verses* 



A DRUMMER'S REVERIE BY THE RIO 
GRANDE. 

TO THE BOYS " ON THE ROAD." 

" I ^HE wild prairie flowers, with their beauty so 
-*■ rare, 

Fill the air with delicious perfume, 
And the plains stretch away till they melt into 
air, 

In the land where the cactus plants bloom. 
Afar from the crowds and their maddening strife. 

All alone on this flowery lea, 
I *11 woo gentle Nature, I '11 leave the old life, 

Where the Rio Grande flows to the sea. 
I hear, in the distance, the murmuring bees, 

The fold-bells' sweet tinklings nigh. 
The tropical zephyrs steal up through the trees. 

And the splash as the river rolls by. 

Reclined on her bosom near Nature's warm heart, 

A drummer is lost from the crowd : 
No thought of "poor crops " or the toils of the mart. 

Or the cares of a life on the road. 
The castles and visions he sees in the sky 

Remind him of boyhood's fond hours, 
When life seemed as pure as the white clouds on 
high, 

And the future was lovely with flowers. 




(- a o 



5 CD 



A Drummer s Reverie by the Rio Grande. 87 

No promising merchants who " order next time " 
Crossed his bow in that ocean of peace ; 

No rice, and corn bread, and tough bacon rind, 
And beefsteak all swimming in grease ; 

No butter as strong as the Sampson of old 

Made him mad in those Sunday-school days ; 
No expenses, and excess, and baggage-men bold 

Made trouble in various ways ; 
No visions of loveliness, eyes of sky-blue. 

Disturbed then his fanciful dreams ; 
No curly-haired fellow (bad luck to him, too,) 

Got away with his pile with four queens ; 
No 'busses to catch for the " Midnight South 
Bound " ; 

No trains that are " seven hours late" ; 
No dazzling hotel-clerks with looks so profound ; 

No politics changed with each State ; 

No listening to stories one thousand years old, 

In those days in the morning of life ; 
No open car windows from which to catch cold ; 

No rivals to beat in the strife. 
No kind-hearted spinster with gay little curls. 

Whom we 're happy to meet now and then. 
Who talks of home influence, and tells all the girls 

To '' Look out for those travelling men " ; 
All these, my dear reader, and a thousand things more, 

Come back with sweet freshness to me, 
As I lie in the flowers, on the cactus-bloomed shore, 

Where the Rio Grande flows to the sea. 



88 Ranch Verses. 

It *s a very nice thing when from home you 're afar, 

Thus to follow your fancy's own bent ; 
To recline by some river and strum a guitar 

And drift to the Isles of Content. 
And if, in the future, old grim-visaged Care 

Shall sail through your fanciful realm, 
Jibe your life's bark about, fly your mainsail in air, 

And put happy Hope at the helm — 
Sail off from that vessel of doubt and despair. 

Come along, my dear fellow, with me. 
And we '11 talk of old times and our castles in air, 

Where the Rio Grande flows to the sea. 



BRER BROWN'S COLLECTION. 

Look hyar, my Baptis breddren, 
Salvation 's free, I knows. 

But / ^ze de Gospil hydrant^ 
Tru which de watters flows. 

An' dat dar las' colleckshun 
We 's takin' at de doah. 

Won't keep de streems er-flowin* 
Tru dis yeer reserwoir ; 

I 'ze tole yer' foah about hit ; 

I preeched de odder day 
" De labrer in de winyard 

Am worthy uv his pay." 



Brer Brown's Collection, 89 

I kyant 'cept no excuses, 

De thirsty mus' go dry, 
De stingy sinners routiL dis throne 

Won't nebber claw de sky ! 

De Lord kyant nebber bless yer 

De ways yer 's gwine on ; 
Yer 's gwine ter ketch de debbil 

On this hyar Sunday morn. 

You niggers like de possum 

Yer gets a powerful heap ; 
But tech him (in de pocket) 

Ye 'z shore ter fall asleep ! 

Yer long-tailed coats kin kiver 

De monstrous ugly patch, 
But dey ain't gwine ter sabe yer 

Up dar at Heaben's latch. 

You '11 grin an* try yer coaxin', 

But Petah, he doan keer — 
He '11 shet de gates an' tell yer 

" You cannot enter hyar ! " 

De stall-fed, stingy sinners 
Wot 's feedin' roun' dis throne, 

Kyant git no moah redemption 
Widout I gets de bone. 



90 Ranch Verses. 

De bacun cums too cos'ly, 
De chickens roos' too high, 

Fer me ter furnish stuffin' 
Fer all de Pilgrims' pie. 

Dar no moah Bam of Gilead, 
Unless you 'ze got de cash, 

An' 'less yer pays fer preechin' 
De Preecher 's shore tu smash ! 

Dars no moah free salvation — 
/ ^ze dun got f raid ter trus* ! 

An' 'less yer cums up libral 
Dis Gospil 's gwine ter bus' ! 

So 'member what I tells yer — 
/ 'ze bleeged to hab sum pay ; 

I kyant 'cept no excuses ! 
So, Breddren — Let us Pray ! 



"REMEMBER THE ALAMO." 

TO THE SAN ANTONIO CLUB. 

'PAIR Greece and Rome brave heroes knew, 
"^ But Texas has her heroes, too, 

The men of Alamo ! 
That bold, courageous, noble band 
Of rangers in the border land, 
Who fighting fell with sword in hand, 

At San Antonio ! 



A Sonnet to Night, 91 

Their well-remembered woes and wrongs 
Demand no feeble minstrel's songs, 

For history's fame is theirs. 
Their names shall live on mortal tongue, 
Their deeds of valor long be sung, 
Their memories blessed by old and young 

In silent tears and prayers. 

Dark Gettysburg and Waterloo 
Survivors from their carnage knew, 

Thermopylae had one ! 
But on the Lone Star's gory field 
The Texans bled, but would not yield ; 
Each man died fighting on his shield — 

The Alamo left none ! 

Crockett, Travis, and Bowie's names 
Shall glow with Freedom's holy flames 

And brighten Glory's sheath ! 
No lettered urn or flowered perfume 
Need mark such storied heroes' tomb. 
For honors round their names shall bloom 

In an immortal wreath ! 



A SONNET TO NIGHT. 

np HE twilight's laces fringe the sea, 

Whilst far beyond yon mountain's crest 
The lingering, lonely sun seeks rest, 

And life seems lost in reverie ! 



92 Ranch Verses, 

No sound from woodland, shore, or lea, 
Save from yon airy sea-bird's nest, 
Where fledglings greet a mother-guest 

Returned from wanderings wild and free. 

Dark spectral fingers clasp the land 
And daylight smiles her last good-bye, 

Whilst, far beyond the reverent strand. 
The vanquished hosts of evening fly. 

As night's victorious, restful hand 
Flings jewelled banners o'er the sky. 



LADY BELLE— A VILLANELLE. 

T OVELY lady. Lady Belle, 
^^^ Pray incline thine ear to me 
Whilst I sing my villanelle. 

Mark and listen, listen well. 
As my lyre is tuned for thee. 
Lovely lady, Lady Belle. 

Hear the music rise and swell, 
As it echoes clear and free, 
Whilst I sing my villanelle. 

Dost forget that twilight dell. 
Where to-night I long to be, 
Lovely lady, Lady Belle ? 



The Round-Up. 93 

There in dreams my fancies dwell, 
Dwell in dreams beside the sea, 
Whilst I sing my villanelle. 

Yes, I love thee ! love thee well, — 
Pray incline thy heart to me, 
Lovely lady. Lady Belle, 
Whilst I sing my villanelle. 



THE ROUND-UP. 

"\ 1 riTH the joy of the wind in our hearts and 
* ' our faces, 

We drive the shy cattle across the divide ; 
Hurrah for the zest and the swift, reckless races 

That make up the pleasures of such a wild ride ! 

Through mesquite and cactus and chapparral 
bushes, 
Over oceans of blossoms we gallop along ; 
On, on ! toward the round-up our stout broncho 
rushes, 
As we drive up the stragglers with shout and 
with song. 

We have searched the lone canyon and scoured the 
valley ; 
We are driving the mavericks, the calves, and the 
steers ; 
On, on, toward the outfit, where stockmen all rally. 
To claim hoofed possessions by brands and 
marked ears. 



94 Ranch Verses. 

Oh, the roaring and surging and pawing of cattle ! 
How they bellow and stampede and long to be 
free ! 
How their lowered heads crash as they lock horns 
in battle ! 
How their billowed backs heave like some wild, 
tawny sea ! 

While cowboys and " nesters " stand guard on 
swift horses, 
The range boss's outfit rides in through the herd 
Cutting out and inspecting — grim, trained, active 
forces 
That divide up the cattle without a waste word. 

Each man " holds " his own, then the roping and 
branding ; 
Ye gods, this is sport ! see that yearling career ; 
The lasso has caught him ! See that bowed bron- 
cho standing 
As firm as a rock, with his head to the steer. 

When the day's work is over to " camp " we are 
flying, 
To unsaddle and hobble and joke with the cook; 
When the supper is finished, there 's a round-up of 
lying. 
But the tales that we tell are not told in this 
book. 



^^ Christine y 95 



"CHRISTINE." 

Her voice is like the mocking-bird's 

Upon the myrtle tree ; 
Her laugh is like the rippling rill's 

That woos the flowery lea ; 
Her eyes are like fringed evening stars 

That dream of tropic seas ; 
Her breath is like the kiss of morn 

That sighs through orange trees. 

The clover loves her nimble feet, 

The zephyrs woo her hair ; 
The twilight lingers on her cheek 

In lissome beauty there ; 
The roses kiss her budding lips, 

Where laughing pearls are seen ; 
All Nature loves dear " Little Chris," 

For she is Nature's queen ! 

Ah ! she is like some lily fair, 

All loveliness in place ; 
A beauteous blossom, breathing joy 

On willowy stem of grace. 
Oh ! may the joys of heaven attend 

This airy, fairy queen. 
For she 's the sovereign of my heart, 

This little girl— " Christine." 



96 Ranch Verses, 



THE OLD LOG FIRE. 



"VTER kin preech uv the pleasures an* joys uv the 
rich, 

'Bout yer oprees an* parties so gay ; 
Yer kin dwell amidst fash'nable folks an' all sich, 

But I don't keer to live theterway. 
Giv' me my ole ranch in the wild solitudes, 

Fer uv Nachur I never kin tire ; 
Then giv' me sum books and a pipe fer all 
moods, 

An' a cheer by the roarin' log fire. 



Yer oprees iz dull tu the muzic I heers, 

When the flames iz asingin' tu me, 
An' the big chimbley roars hit's old chune in my 
ears, 

Like sum far-away song uv the sea. 
Ah, then with sum feller like Edgar A. Poe, 

Or Shakespeare, who kinder gits nigher, 
I mozey 'way back tu the dim long ago, 

Ez I dream by the roarin' log fire. 



My ole 'magination jest gits me, fer shore. 
When I loafer around with ole Scott ; 

Them Waverley novels I 've read o'er and o*er ; 
His pomes I 've never forgot. 



Old Fort Phantom HilL 97 

Yer kin liv' in yer cities ef yew are inclined, 

But uv fashion I do not desire ; 
Giv' me my ole ranch an' er contented mind, 

An' sum books by the roarin' log fire. 



OLD FORT PHANTOM HILL. 

(An abandoned fort in Jones County, Texas, Supposed to be 

haunted.) 

TO THE VETERANS OF THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

/^N the breezy Texas border, on the prairies far 

^^ away. 

Where the antelope is grazing and the Spanish 

ponies play ; 
Where the tawny cattle wander through the golden 

incensed hours. 
And the sunlight woos a landscape clothed in royal 

robes of flowers ; 
Where the Elm and Clear Fork mingle, as they 

journey to the sea. 
And the night-wind sobs sad stories o'er a wild and 

lonely lea ; 
Where of old the dusky savage and the shaggy 

bison trod, 
And the reverent plains are sleeping 'midst drowsy 

dreams of God ; 
Where the twilight loves to linger, e'er night's sable 

robes are cast 
7 



98 Ranch Verses, 

'Round grim-ruined, spectral chimneys, telling 
stories of the past, 

There upon an airy mesa, close beside a whisper- 
ing rill, 

There to-day you '11 find the ruins of the Old Fort 
Phantom HilL 

Years ago, so runs the legend, 'bout the year of 

Fifty-three, 
This old fort was first established by the gallant 

soldier, Lee ; 
And to-day the restless spirits of his proud and 

martial band 
Haunt those ghostly, gloomy chimneys in the Texas 

border land. 
There once every year at midnight, when the 

chilling Northers roar. 
And the storm-king breathes its thunder from the 

heights of Labrador, 
When the vaulted gloom re-echoes with the owls — 

" whit-tu-woo ! " 
And the stealthy cayote answers with his lonely, 

long " ki-00 ! " 
Then strange phantoms flit in silence through that 

weeping mesquite vale. 
And the reveilles come sounding o'er the old Mc- 

Kenzie Trail, 
Then the muffled drums beat muster and the 

bugles sadly trill, 
And the vanished soldiers gather 'round the heights 

of Phantom Hill. 



Old Fort Phantom Hill. 99 

Then pale bivouac fires are lighted and those 
gloomy chimneys glow, 

While the grizzled veterans muster from the taps 
of long ago, 

Lee and Johnston and McKenzie^ Grant and yack- 
son, Custer, too. 

Gather there in peaceful silence waiting for their 
last review ; 

Blue and gray at length united on the high re- 
doubts of fame, 

Soldiers all in one grand army, that will answer in 
God's name. 

Yes, they rest on heights of glory in that fair, celes- 
tial world, 

" Where the war-drum throbs no longer, and the 
battle-flags are furled." 

And to-day the birds are singing where was heard 
the cannons' roar, 

For the gentle doves are nesting 'midst those ruins 
of the war. 

Yes, the mocking-birds re-echo : " Peace on earth, 
to men good will," 

And the " swords are turned to ploughshares " in 
the land of Phantom Hill. 



lOO Ranch Verses. 



GOOD-BYE. 

f~^ OOD-BYE, Sweetheart — our dream is past, 
^-^ The swallows homeward fly ; 
The faded leaves are falling fast, 
Our summer joys are o'er at last, 
Good-bye, Sweetheart ! Good-bye ! 

The wailing winds, the meadows sere. 

The lonely sea and sky, 
The naked trees and landscape drear, 
Suggest departures for the year, 

Good-bye, Sweetheart ! Good-bye ! 

The grieving waters woo the strand. 

All Nature breathes a sigh ; 
Pale Autumn waves her spectral hand 
And whispers to the listening land. 

Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 



"REVERIES OF A BACHELOR.* 

(With apologies to Donald G. Mitchell.) 

T ONG, long ago, a careless lad, 
^^^ The scapegoat of a village, 
Who made the rustic neighbors mad 
By boyish pranks and pillage ; 



^^ Reveries of a Bachelor r loi 

*T was then, I say, I knew a lass — 

" A girl beneath my level " — 
The daughter of — well, let that pass — 

I loved her like — the devil ! 

I met her at the grammar school — 

That dear old rural college 
Where hand in hand through sum and rule 

We climbed the heights of knowledge. 
Ah, she to me was passing fair. 

Her smiles were so entrancing ! 
She was an angel ! I declare — 

I vow I *m not romancing. 

Ah, yes, she was my fairy queen, 

I worshipped and adored her ; 
I praised her charms in verse serene — 

I *m sure I must have bored her. 
I loved the ribbons that she wore. 

The books and slate she carried ; 
And now and then I gravely swore 

" That we should soon get married ! 

At this she laughed and shook her head^ 

And said to me so chilly, 
" You naughty, foolish, stupid Ned, 

You boys are all so silly." 
Her haughty father's name was Dan — 

He " drove a horse and carriage '* 
(He drove them — for another man) 

When I had thoughts of marriage. 



I02 Ranch Verses, 

I told her of my lofty aims, 

The acres of my daddy ; 
But she was deaf to all my claims—' 

She loved a youth named — Paddy f 
Oh, how I fought that lusty lad — 

(He walloped me like thunder) 
Ah, then my boyish heart was sad 

With grief and love and wonder. 

But now these reveries make me laugh, 

And now I laugh at marriage ; 
She is a coachman's better half, 

" They keep a horse and carriage." 
Ah, yes ; the fates were kind, I vow — 

We both have won our wishes ; 
I 'm wedded — to the muses — now, 

And she is — washing dishes ! 



ENNUI. 



A T a lonely ranch neath a lonely sky 
-*^^ On the tawny Texas prairie. 
Where the owls hoo, and the plovers cry, 
And the cayotes howl, and the Northers sigh, 

To-night I am sad and weary. 
The fire dreams on in its chimney-bed, 

While the rain on the roof is sobbing 
A requiem sad for a year that 's dead. 
For the shadowy faces flown and fled, 
For the days misspent, and the words unsaid. 

And the dreams that Time is robbing. 



Ennui. 103 

Without, in the wind and rain and gloom, 

The night is steeped in sorrow, 
While spectral fancies haunt my room 
With ghostly thoughts from Memory's tomb, 

And the cares of a dull To-morrow. 
Ah, Life is at best a lonely lane 

O'ergrown with the rue and roses. 
Though the flowers must wither, the thorns remain, 
For each heart knoweth some secret pain ; 
Some fond regret, and some hope in vain, 

In each secret soul reposes. 

Hast thou not sighed for some ideal shore 

'Midst groves and forests vernal — 
Where pain and trials and griefs were o'er, 
Where the world was fair as dreams of yore, 
Where hearts were true and life was more. 

And love was a thing Eternal ? 
Ah, yes ! and to-night 'neath a lonely sky, 

On the tawny Texas prairie. 
Where the owls hoo and the Northers sigh. 
Where the cayotes wail, and the plovers cry, 

To-night I am sad and weary. 

December 31st. 



104 Ranch Verses. 



THE BRAZOS QUEEN. 

"P AR down in Southern Texas, where the Brazos 

■^ River flows, 

Where the cotton plants are blooming and the 

stately live oak grows, 
Where shrouds of waving mosses drape spectre 

cypress trees. 
And butterflies are floating through the fragrant 

breathing breeze ; 
Where the pensive, pure magnolias dream away the 

golden hours. 
And the sated cattle wander through royal realms 

of flowers ; 
Where the mocking-birds are singing to the blos- 
soms on the lea. 
And this river winds forever to wed the Tropic 

Sea ; 
There, in a hacienda midst bowers of foliage 

green. 
There lives a gentle lady — the lovely Brazos 

Queen ! 

Her voice is low and tuneful as some airy, sad 

guitar, 
Her cheeks are like pale roses from twilight realms 

afar. 
Her eyes are like pure sunbeams that fringe some 

mountain stream, 



The Brazos Queen, 105 

And her face suggests the beauty which haunts a 

poet's dream ; 
Her thoughts are pure and lofty, as mountain peaks 

of snow, 
Yet her nature 's warm and lovely as the prairie 

sunset's glow. 
Ah, she *s an earthly angel — her name you '11 never 

guess ! 
And so, my gentle readers, we '11 call her — R. F. S. ! 
Now jR shall stand for " royal," and F may " fairy " 

mean. 
And Sf of course, is " sovereign," for she 's the 

Brazos Queen ! 

Yes, she 's the queen of nature, the song of 

morning birds ; 
The music of the zephyrs re-echoes in her words. 
But now her doves are mourning, her zephyrs too 

are sad. 
For they have been deserted ! alas, it is too bad. 
My lady 's left her kingdom — her village subjects 

frown ; 
For she has gone to conquer the proud and stately 

town. • 

Her gallant cavaleros that roam the Brazos side, 
All, all have been deserted, — alone they sigh and 

ride. 
She took their sunshine with her, to gild a grander 

scene, 
For now midst courts of fashion she reigns a royal 

queen. 



io6 Ranch Verses, 

Take care, ye city gallants, in spite of all your arts, 
This lovely village princess will capture all your 

hearts. 
Yes ! yes ! You '11 all be sighing around her 

dainty feet ; 
Ye bees will woo this flower, this blossom pure and 

sweet. 
And all the lonely zephyrs that sigh around her 

home 
Will seek and woo and love her, wherever she may 

roam. 
And though she may forget them, her loyal stars 

look down 
And dream of her forever, this Venus gone to town. 
Yes, e'en the dames of Fashion will leave their 

royal sport 
And flock to do her homage — the Brazos Queen at 

Court. 

Oh, if my hand could gather fame's laurels for her 

now, 
I 'd cull a lovely garland and place it on her brow, 
If I could chain the sunbeams^ could rope the stars 

of night, 
I 'd give them to my Lady, and crown her life with 

light. 
If I could sing such carols as to the birds belong, 
I 'd gently breathe them to her and fill her soul 

with song. 
Then perhaps amid her triumphs, perhaps she 'd 

not forget 



The Waltz, 107 

Her absent, exiled minstrel, who dreams about her 

yet. 
Perhaps the "Poet Ranchman," who 's doomed to 

dwell apart. 
Might hope to live in memory — some Eden of her 

heart. 
Oh, may she long be happy, this maiden rare, 

serene, 
And may God always bless her — our dainty Brazos 

Queen ! 



THE WALTZ. 

nPHE wooing waltz, the wooing waltz, 

^ Still of that waltz I 'm dreaming, 
For she was mine that lovely night. 
Was mine at least in seeming. 

Within that room, that crowded room, 

So crowded, yet so lonely, 
We drifted on, we two alone, 

I thought of her, her only. 

Her little hand, her jewelled hand. 
Seemed lightly to caress me ; 

It thrilled my heart with pride and joy, 
It seemed to say, " I bless thee." 

The music rose, the music fell. 
Now slower and now faster, 



io8 Ranch Verses, 

On, on we danced, in easy tune, 
Close, closer still I clasped her. 

I watched her eyes, her wistful eyes ; 

I breathed through perfumed tresses, 
Her dimpled cheeks and pouting lips 

Invited warm caresses. 

Her pensive flush, her truant blush, 
Betrayed her inward feelings ; 

Those drooping eyes, those gentle sighs 
Suggested love's reveaiings. 

We drifted on, outside the room ; 

Ah, how could I resist her. 
For in that dimly lighted hall 

I slyly stooped and — kissed her ! 

The music dreamed, the music breathed 

The story that I told her. 
And in that hallway's friendly gloom 

She listened on my shoulder. 



The Hermifs Soliloquy. 109 



THE HERMIT'S SOLILOQUY. 

(*' There is a solitary hermit living in the Panhandle of 
Texas who is known to be a foreign nobleman. He dwells 
in a dugout, entirely alone, and refuses to have any inter- 
course with mankind. It is said that domestic trouble drove 
him from a luxurious home in Europe and induced him to 
adopt his present mode of life." — St. Louis paper.) 

A FAR on the prairies, afar and alone, 
-^ ^^ Where Nature dreams, and the Northers 

moan, 
Where the cayote prowls the long night through, 
And the owl sighs its sad " tu-whoo "; 
Where the gloomy buzzard wheels and flies 
On the wings of Death 'neath Southern skies ; 
Where the lonely stars shine clear and cold 
O'er the weary wastes of a world grown old ; 
To-night alone by the embers glow 
I am lost in the gloom of a long ago — 
Lost midst sorrows which none can scan, 
Close, close to Nature, yet far from man. 

I, who in youth true friends have known, 

Am friendless now, afar and alone, 

My hopes abandoned, my dreams undone, 

Forgotten by all, cared for by none. 

Alone am I, alone with that strife 

Which gnaws at the heart of a blasted life. 



no Ranch Verses, 

No love, no hope, no faith — all gone ! 
*T were better, alas, I had ne'er been born. 
For what does it matter — this waste of breath, 
This struggle for life, this fight with death ? 
Ah ! life 's but a shadow, a shadow in air — 
We came from darkness, we go to — where ? 

'T were better, indeed, to hope for some sphere 
Where the soul may rest beyond sorrows here ; 
But my sad heart, so long deceived. 
Mistrusts the dreams that it once believed. 
Yes, I who in youth had faith above 
Have lost all faith through a faithless love. 

God ! that thought — her false, fair face 
Still haunts my life in this lonely place. 
The pensive charm of her wistful eyes 

1 see in the depths of the azure skies ; 

And oft at night midst the moon's pale beams 
She haunts my den and fills my dreams. 

Her low, sweet voice I have often heard 

In the twilight songs of the mocking-bird. 

Lo ! the winter comes and the summer goes, 

While the tide of seasons ebbs and flows ; 

The spring returns with its birds and flowers 

In a dreary round of weary hours ; 

The months and years roll by — and yet 

Alas ! alas ! I cannot forget ! 

And to-night afar, by the fire alone. 

While the Norther sighs and my spirits groan, 

Where the lonely owl calls " tu-whoo," 







I i-. -y^d-r^V '■■ . 






Never Despair, in 

And the cayote wails the whole night through, 

Alone am I, alone with that strife 

Which haunts the heart of a blasted life ! 



NEVER DESPAIR. 

C^IVE up vain regretting, don't sigh for the past, 
^ Let the veil of oblivion be over it cast ; 
Fond memories are pleasant, but they never will 

pay. 
The sight drafts of Time that fall due on to-day ; 
Be up and be doing, don't trifle with Time, 
If you long for success you must labor and climb. 

Success is a blossom that blooms into life 
On the mountains of toil amidst bowlders of strife; 
The paths that lead up to that flower so rare 
Are rocky and dangerous, and clouded with care. 
But beyond the dark canyons that yawn on life's 

slope 
There are halos of glory and rainbows of hope. 

So never despair ! push on with your schemes, 
If they are not successful, indulge in new dreams. 
The future still beckons, so do not lament. 
For the pale vanished past, or the efforts misspent. 
Though tossed by life's tempests and billows of 

care, 
Steer on toward the stars and the lights " Over 

There." 



112 Ranch Verses, 



TO KATHERINE. 

T KNOW a gentle maiden, 
^ A flower fair is she ; 
As graceful as the lilies, 

That grow by Galilee. 
Her cheeks are like the roses, 

Such eyes were never seen. 
Ah, she 's my pretty cousin, 

The pensive Katherine. 

Her thoughts are pure and lofty 

As dreams of paradise, 
And music swoons enraptured 

In echoes of her sighs. 
Her laugh is like the ripple 

Of music, too, I ween, 
Ah, she 's my lovely cousin, 

The gentle Katherine. 

Her life is full of sunshine, 

Her heart is always kind, 
Her nature 's true and noble. 

Enlightened and refined. 
Oh, T 'm a lucky fellow, 

Related to — a queen \ 
The queen of budding beauty, 

The blossom Katherine. 



The Question. 113 



THE QUESTION. 

PAIR lady, though proud cavaliers 
"'• Are bending round thy throne, 
And waiting there with eager ears 

To do thy wishes known ; 
And though thy pure patrician face 

Is proud and passing fair, 
Methinks, behind the mask, I trace 
A wistful hint of care. 

Though wit and beauty gild the scene. 

And every one seems gay, 
Though all is life and joy serene, 

Thy thoughts are far away ; 
The swooning roses on thy breast 

Betray no calm delight ; 
Alas, their drooping buds suggest 

My lady 's sad to-night. 

The viols moan — thy men at arms 

Go proudly whirling by ; 
Then why, amidst such royal charms, 

Why doth my lady sigh ? 
Stern valor gaily strives to gain 

Thy smiles and make thee glad ; 
Alas ! each gallant strives in vain — 

Why is my lady sad 1 

8 



114 Ranch Verses, 

Too well thy minstrel knows his doom — = 

A lonely life of care — 
But far beyond the clouds of gloom 

One star is shining there ! 
For though his sun has long been set 

O'er hopes too fond to last, 
He lives in halos of regret, 

The starlight of the past. 

Though vain, alas ! his thoughts may be, 

Though doomed to dwell apart, 
He lives alone with thoughts of thee. 

The mistress of his heart. 
No matter where his footsteps rove, 

Where e'er his lot is cast. 
He 's loyal to his early love. 

His first love and the last. 

To-night, while sleeping on the plain. 

Beneath star-curtained skies. 
He heard thy soft, sad voice again, 

And dreamed of starry eyes. 
Oh, yes, I dreamed, lost love of mine, 

Once more I felt thy kiss ; 
Once more I dwelt in realms divine, 

In fervent arms of bliss. 

I dreamed we two at last were one, 
That through this land of breath 

The current of our lives should run 
Down to the seas of death. 



Youth, 115 

That far beyond the clouds of life, 

Above God's azure skies, 
That I could claim thee there as wife 

In realms of Paradise. 

Alas ! alas ! it cannot be. 

Vain, vain, each fond regret ; 
The regal charms beam not for me, 

But oh, I can't forget ! 
Thy royal path winds far from mine, 

And it is better so ; 
For thee a grander sun must shine 

Than that of long ago. 

A richer suitor seeks thy heart. 

Your old knight could not be 
Both bard and Croesus in one part, 

But still he 'd die for thee ! 
Then is thy sadness now a whim. 

Some idle fear forsooth — 
Or is it some fond thought of him, 

The lover of thy youth ? 



YOUTH. 

T N the Ocean of Time there 's a wonderful isle 
^ Embowered in roses and beautiful trees. 
Where fountains of Fancy all troubles beguile 
And the incense of morning perfumes every 
breeze ; 



Ii6 Ranch Verses. 

There Pleasure's gay banners illumine Hope's 
bowers, 
And blossoms of Beauty abound everywhere ; 
There Love rules a Queen of the glad, golden 
hours, 
And Life is a dream without sorrow or care. 

But, alas ! on that island no mortal abides, 

And the currents flow swift by its perilous 
shore ; 
No vessels can anchor in Time's swelling tides. 
They must sail and pass on to return never- 
more. 
Do you ask me the name of this beautiful 
land, 
That realm of delight and pleasure and truth ? 
Look back o'er Life's billows toward Memory's 
strand. 
Behold it afar — 't is the fair Isle of Youth. 



AGE. 



T OST, lost, youth's dreams of long ago, 
^~^ Flown are the hopes we used to know, 

All vanished into air. 
Where are the smiles which Beauty wore ? 
Where are the buds which Pleasure bore. 
And where the friends beloved of yore t 

The echoes answer — where ! 



The " 6^ " Strings of the Heart, 117 

Why, why this fevered pomp and pride, 
This gilded show which soon must glide 

To deep oblivion's sea — 
This wealth and power and swelling state, 
These smiles of love and frowns of hate, 
Soon, soon must flow through " time's wide gate** 

To dim eternity. 

Yes, yes, we all are born midst tears, 
To struggle on a few short years 

With doubt and dull despair. 
Who knows the secret of Life's womb ? 
Canst thou prove aught beyond the tomb ? 
Ah ! man's brief day is lost in gloom, 

His spirit lingers — where ? 

Life, life, alas, what worth are ye, 
To weary mortals such as we, 

Who long for dreamless sleep ? 
Our years are scarred by pain and grief, 
Our " sorrows neither few nor brief," 
'T is death alone can bring relief 

To aged eyes that weep. 



THE '^G" STRINGS OF THE HEART. 

'T^HIS life iz full uv muzic, 

Hits no use tu talk uv art, 
When Old Nacher cums a-fiddlin' 
Roun' the " G " strings uv the heart. 



Ii8 Ranch Verses. 

But them dim mysterious poets 
Uv the interlectuool kind, 

Had better tune their bugles 
Tu the zephyr flutin' wind. 

The world ain't got much leisure 

Fer tu study out a song, 
Az the people 's all tu busy 

Worryin' how tu git along. 
If they cums tu poets' problems 

Thet hez neither sense nor rhyme, 
I know from sad experiunce 

Thet they skip 'em every time ! 

Them meloncholy fellers, 

Wot sings uv woe an' care, 
Hed better leave their sepulchres 

An' git out in the air ! 
Fer wot 's the use uv livin' 

In an atmosphere uv gloom, 
Where sunshine never enters, 

An' the flowers never bloom ? 

The sunshine iz the warmest ! 

An' hit ''pays the best," I know, 
Fer the ole world longs fer laughter, 

Az it has tu much uv woe. 
So tune yer wailin' fiddles 

To some lively, cheerful part, 
An' let the muzic vibrate 

From the " G " strings uv the heart. 



Highland Evening Song, 119 



HIGHLAND EVENING SONG. 

T^WILIGHT blushing o'er the hillside 

-*• Breathes rare kisses to the sea, 
Whilst fond memory softly murmurs 

Dreams of other days to me. 
Mark the seabird homeward flying 

To its nestling, cooing mate, 
While the laughing zephyrs whisper : 

" Love, good night — 't is growing late." 

Ah, these shadows silent gathering 

Round this wave-kissed Highland shore 
Bring to mind old shadowy faces, 

Faces we shall see no more. 
Where are they, the buds and blossoms 

Of life's radiant, rosy dawn ? 
Withered — ay, like rarest roses, — 

And the billows murmur, " Gone." 

Yes, and we shall soon drift seaward 

On oblivion's unknown stream, 
For the sum of all existence 

Is the essence of a dream. 
Long these lonely waves shall echo 

Round this haunted Highland shore. 
But these scenes and lands that know us, 

Shall remember us no more. 

Highland Lights, N. J., July, 1892, 



I20 Ranch Verses. 

LINES TO A PICTURE. 

MISS EMMA G. 

T^AIR lady, when at thee I gaze, 
■*■ My spirit dreams of other days, 

Of days beloved of yore. 
I breathe again that rare perfume 
Which hovers round youth's radiant bloom 
Ere yet life's bark is wrecked in gloom 

On manhood's billowed shore. 

That fair patrician face of thine. 
Thy high-born looks and head divine, 

Recall old dreams anew ; 
When life's gay current swept along 
Through realms of love and hope and song 
As free as seabirds' flight, and strong 

And pure as morning dew. 

The pensive richness of thy face 
Suggests a wealth of inward grace 

Which charms me like a spell. 
Thy beauty chains me with its beams, 
Thy radiant image ever seems 
To haunt my life and gild my dreams 

Far more than I can tell. 

As one who worships at the throne 
Of some fair idol he has known 



For ever more, 12 1 

In old affection's isles, 
Where memory's music softly plays 
Midst incense of dead vanished days, 
So I now breathe this song of praise 

To bless thy pictured wiles. 



FOREVERMORE. 

^1 THEN Aurora's rosy kisses 

* * Wake the blushing sleeping morn^ 
And the jewelled dewdrops glisten 

On the silken tasselled corn ; 
When the mocking-bird is singing 

To the blossoms on the lea, 
'T is then I cease from dreaming 

And awake to thoughts of thee ! 

When the twilight's golden splendor 

Gilds the mountains far away, 
And fair evening's sable banners 

Drape the starry couch of day ; 
When the wooing night-winds whisper 

To the lonely listening sea, 
*T is then, ah, then, my lady. 

That my spirit yearns for thee ! 

E'en in morning, or in twilight. 

Or midst dreamland's realms divine, 

1 think of thee, fair lady. 

For my heart is always thine ; 



122 Ranch Verses. 

For like some stream that 's flowing 
Toward the ocean's wooing shore, 

So flows my life's deep current 
Toward thee — Forevermore. 



BAR HARBOR DAYS. 

A LONE, far away by a fire to night, 
Far away on the Texas frontier, 
My thoughts have flown backward some months 
in their flight. 
To the glad summer days of the year. 
To the days when I met thee — thou vision of art — 

To those Bar Harbor days by the sea. 
Though distance dissever, and fate bid us part, 
I '11 remember that summer — and thee. 

Have you then forgotten those rare mountain 
rides ? 

Those wonderful views from the shore ? 
To-night while the Norther booms o'er the Divides, 

I can hear those wild billows once more. 
And have you forgotten those long afternoons 

When we strolled on the rocks by the sea ? 
Those days and those rambles, those bass-viol 
tunes. 

Are full of old memories to me. 

I remember that hop at the jolly West End, 
Those yachts and our birch bark canoe ; 



Bar Harbor Days. 123 

That ball at "The Kebo," where you were my 
friend ; 
Where I dreamed away waltzes with you. 
Oh, the scent of that flower which swooned in 
your hair ! 
Oh, the grace of your beautiful charms 
Was the fairest by far, and the loveliest there, 
When I held you that night in my arms. 

I remember your arch doubting look of surprise. 

That soft twilight flush on your cheek ; 
Methinks I saw volumes of thought in those eyes. 

Where thy heart is accustomed to speak. 
I recall your low voice, like the mocking-bird's 
trill. 

When it sings in magnolia bowers, 
And your laugh like the song of the rippling rill 

When it whispers its love to the flowers. 

I recall the old song that you sang 'neath the trees, 

Its music I '11 never forget ; 
It sighs through my soul like a tropical breeze, 

Which is fragrant with love and regret, 
I remember all this, yes, more if I choose, 

Ay, more than I '11 ever confess ; 
But you have forgotten it all I suppose, 

And I am just dreaming — I guess. 

Yes, dreaming alone by the fire to-night, 
Where the cayotes are calling — " ki-oo ! " 



124 Ranch Verses, 

While the sad zeyphrs sigh — " Ah, she never will 
write," 

To a ^' wild Texas fellow " — like you. 
Ah, well ! never mind, perhaps it 's all for the best, 

My fair queen of fashion and men, 
For the summer is past — shall I tell you the rest ? 

Well — I 've married in Texas since then I 



MY BARK IS ON THE SEA. 

A LYRIC. 

1\ yr Y bark is on the sea, love, 
^^ ^ My boat chafes at the pier; 
'T is longing there for thee, love, 
Pray do not linger here. 
Come, let 's away and sail to-day 
With breezes blowing free. 
With breezes blowing free, love, 
Come, let 's away and sail to-day 
With breezes blowing free. 

I know rare, lonely isles, love, 
Where waves the stately palm, 
Where softest sunlight smiles, love. 
O'er spicy groves of balm. 
Let 's woo the breeze for tropic seas. 
With Pleasure at the prow, 
With Pleasure at the prow, love. 
Let 's woo the breeze for tropic seas, 
With Pleasure at the prow. 



A Sonnet to the Sea. 125 

The whispering ripples speak, love, 
Rare songs unto my heart ; 
The blushes on thy cheek, love, 
Fond hopes to me impart. 
So let 's away and cruise to-day, 
With Cupid at the helm. 
With Cupid at the helm, love, 
So let 's away and cruise to-day, 
With Cupid at the helm. 



A SONNET TO THE SEA. 

13 OLL on, thou proud majestic everlasting Sea ! 
■"^^ Too well thou know'st there is no peace or 

rest ; 

For in thy cold, relentless heaving breast 
There throbs the great deep heart of all Eternity. 
As thou hast been so shalt thou ever be ; 

What dost thou seek — what is thy vain request ? 
For thou art grasping still and moaning mournfully, 
Why wailest thou ? What is thy mystery ? 

Though feeble man may gaze on thee to-day. 
And proudly stem thy breathing, pulseful tide. 
To-morrow he has gone ! yet on thy boundless 
billows glide, 

Forgetful of all time, oblivious to all sway, 
Save His who rules the world ! whose chariots ride 

Upon the storms ! His whom the winds and 
waves alike obey. 

Spring Lake Beach, N. J., July, 1891. 



126 Ranch Verses, 



PERSEVERE. 

"DRACE up, my dear fellow, push on, never fear, 
^-^ The victory is thine if you still persevere ; 
This life is for progress, don't sigh about luck, 
The battles are won by the soldiers with pluck ! 

No matter how lowly or humble your birth. 
Ambition's a merit that 's wedded to worth. 

The world is before you ; push onward and win ; 

If you climb to Fame's portal, just boldly march 
in. 

There 's no harm in trying : do the best that you 
can — 

Give up useless sighing and fight like a man. 

Aim high and strike hard, leave nothing to chance. 
Don't skulk in the rear, just ride in advance. 

Have hope for your beacon forever on high ; 

Press forward, keep trying, and never say die ! 
So onward, old fellow, brace up, never fear, 
The victory is thine if you still persevere ! 



To the Memory of Gen. Sam Houston. 127 



TO THE MEMORY OF GEN. SAM 
HOUSTON. 

THY memory is blessed in this proud Southern 
land, 
Thy praises are sung by mankind ; 
Fair Texas herself is thy monument grand, 
Her freedom was won by thy heroic band, 
Her destinies shaped by thy mind. 

Thy life and its trials still live in each heart, 
(Youth's romance, alas, was so brief) 

Thy story of sorrow surpasses all art, 

But thy manhood soon silenced the slanderer's dart, 
Thou hero acquainted with grief. 

Then plant the fair flowers around his lone tomb, 

For this hero who suffered and bled ; 
O'er his bier let affection breathe forth its perfume, 
Let the laurels and lilies eternally bloom 
O'er the dust of the patriot dead. 

Sleep on, gallant chieftain; though thou art no more, 

A proud city clings to thy name ; 
The future shall echo thy valor of yore, 
For History has blazoned thy deeds o'er and o'er, 

On the walls of the Temple of Fame. 

Yes ! his name is immortal, but no statue is reared 
By this land that he struggled to save ; 



128 Ranch Verses, 

Free Texas should honor his mem'ry revered, 
And worship in marble her saviour endeared — 
Sam Houston, the noble and brave ! 



TO-DAY. 

T ET 'S woo the flying hours — to-day, 
-*^-^ While Hope to Pleasure sings. 
For who, alas, to-night can say 
"What dim to-morrow brings ? " 

The future 's but an empty dream, 

The i^ast returneth never ; 
So woo the present's gilded beam, 

And banish woe forever. 

Life's fitful shades are fading fast. 
Time's stream soon flows away ; 

And youth's swift sun must set at last. 
So let it shine — to-day. 

If truth and kindness fill youth's hours, 

Old age will ever be 
A garland of affection's flowers. 

Which love shall cull for thee. 

Then in the afterglow of years, 
When memory soothes all strife. 

Remembrance then can weep no tears, 
For peace shall crown thy life. 







# .' ■ '•;■ 


^^^^^ ■ "V^-^^v . ■ ■■•■.- 




^^i^S^.;,.„; "-..""■.■■." ^ . ■■'■' ■ ■■ ■ 




Lines to a Lady, 129 

Improve the flying hours, to-day, 
For time has winnowing wings ; 

And who, alas, to-night can say 
" What dim to-morrow brings ? ** 



LINES TO A LADY. 

XT AY, lovely lady, you are wrong, 
■** ^ I am not " always gay," 
Nor is my "life a happy song," 

As I have heard you say. 
Ah, no ! I, too, have weary hours. 

But hearts like mine conceal 
The thorns which hedge life's scentless flowers 
That withered in youth's garden bowers ; 

I do not weep ; I feel ! 

Though you may think my heart is light, 

Alas, it is not so ; 
But still 't is best to make things bright 

In darkest hours of woe. 
I know the world is full of grief, 

That life o'erflows with wrong ; 
But dull despair won't bring relief, 
So I believe 't were best, in brief, 

"To suffer and be strong." 



130 Ranch Verses, 



WAITING. 

A LAS, for the whim of a proud beauty's ways, 
"^^^ It is really too sad to believe it ; 
1 adore her, I love her, I breathe her my praise, 
But her majesty will not receive it. 

Ah, once she was gentle and lovely and kind, 

And did not object to my passion ; 
But alas for the peace of my heart and my mind— « 

I am scorned by this lady of fashion. 

I have sued and entreated and suffered in vain. 
But her proud haughty heart is unshaken ; 

She is deaf to my woe, she exults in my pain, 
I am exiled, forlorn, and forsaken ! 

She refuses my love, she " will not be my friend," 
She refuses me, too, " as a brother " : 

Alas, is it over ? Is my dream at an end — 
Must I leave her and look for another ? 

No ! no ! that is vain, for my heart is still true. 

She, only, controls my affection ; 
If she spurns me at last, I shall nevermore woo 

Till — I meet with some other selection. 

Ah, yes, I must wait till the wane of the moon. 
Then perhaps she will pity my sorrow ; 

Perhaps she '11 relent when she thinks of last June, 
So I '11 wait till — day after to-morrow ! 



'lexas Types — The Sheriff. 131 



MISUNDERSTOOD. 

A SONNET. 

"pURN on, proud soul ! no matter the cost — 

^ Thy destiny to fulfill ; 

The sun must glow though its gleams be lost, 

It shines and it always will ; 
So let thy spirit gleam and glow 

O'er the twilight hills of care. 
Remember at last though the clouds gloom low, 
Though the night seems dark and the tempests 
blow, 

There 's a rosy dawn somewhere ! 
Thy fate is the fate of a lofty mind — 

How little is known of the good — 
To thy worth the world is cold and blind, 
Thy wealth is too pure — yes, too refined — 

Thou art Misunderstood. 



TEXAS TYPES— THE SHERIFF. 

T TE 's a quiet, easy fellow, with his pants tucked 

•*•'*' in his boots, 

And he wears a big revolver which he seldom ever 

shoots ; 
He has served his time as ranger on the reckless 

Rio Grande, 



132 Ranch Verses. 

And he has the reputation for great marksmanship 
and sand ; 

He has strung up several horse thieves in the rust- 
ler days gone by, 

And although he seems so pleasant there 's a devil 
in his eye. 

When he goes to take a prisoner, he calls him by 

his name, 
In that confidential manner which suggests the 

bunco game ; 
If the culprit is not willing, takes exception to the 

plan, 
Our Sheriff gets the drop, sir, and he likewise gets 

his man ; 
Oh, it's "powerful persuadin'," is a pistol 'neath 

your nose, 
" Hands up, you Ve got to go, Sam," and Sam he 

ups and goes. 

In the fall at " County 'lections " when the candi- 
dates appear, 

The Sheriff *s awful friendly, for he loves to 
" 'lectioneer "; 

Then he takes the honest granger and ye stockman 
by the hand, 

And he augers them for votes, sir, in a manner 
smooth and bland ; 

He is generous, brave, and courtly, but a dangerous 
man to sass. 






■i'^'^'^ -^^ v"'''v«k>'''-'"Sii;fH- , 



A TEXAS SHERIFF. 



Texas Types — The Cattle Queen, 133 

For his manner is suggestive of that sign — ^^Kee^^ 
off the grass I " 

He may run a livery stable, or perchance he keeps 

hotel ; 
He may own a bunch of cattle, or may have some 

lots to sell • 
He is full of go and travel, for he 's paid so much 

per mile, 
And his little bills for "extras," make County 

Judges smile. 
" Hyars lookin' at yer," Sheriff ; come, boys, lets 

drink her down, 
To the most important man, sir ! of every Texas 

town. 



TEXAS TYPES— THE CATTLE QUEEN. 

T N the lovely land of Texas, 
-*■ Where the " rustlers " seldom vex us, 
And the " Legislature checks us 

With its land laws if you please " — 
There, within a hacienda. 
Dwells a lady dark and slender, 
Who is radiant, rare, and tender — 

The dashing little widow — Mistress Breeze. 

She is pretty as a fairy, 
She is gay, and glad, and airy, 
Is that queen of the " perairie," 
She *s the dearest of our joys. 



134 Ranch Verses, 

You '11 surrender when you meet her, 
When you see this fair chiquita ; 
Yes, you '11 love this senorita, 
It 's the fate of all the boys. 

She is graceful as a lily, 

But she knocks the stockmen silly 

When she rides her lively filly 

Round the ranges after steers. 
She can rope a maverick yearling 
With her light riatta twirling ; 
Oh, I oft have seen it curling 

'Round some bawling brindle's ears. 

She owns thirty thousand cattle^ 

And a bank up in Seattle ; 

Oh, she makes the dollars rattle 

When she goes to San Antone — 
Oh, I tell you she 's a winner. 
Who can cook and grace a dinner 
For a famished bachelor sinner, 

That will make his spirit groan. 

Yes, she " raises the old Harry " 
With the boys — and likewise Larry ^ — 
But, alas, she will not marry. 

She 's so '"'' powerful hard to please** 
Yet mankind is still her debtor, 
For she makes her wild world better, 
And I thank God that I met her, — 

This lovely little widow — Mistress Breeze. 



To an " Unknown Friend " — *'A,M" 13$ 



TO AN " UNKNOWN FRIEND "— " A. M.' 

ON RECEIVING HER VERSES AND FLOWERS. 

"PAIR lady, though we "never met," 
■*■ Though fate our lives dissever, 
Thy kindness I will ne'er forget, 
For like some star in Eden set, 
My heart is thine forever ! 

Yes, when such kindly acts as thine 

Illume care's weary hours, 
The poet feels that life 's divine, 
And fancy's royal rainbows shine, 

Through all his future showers. 

Though like some waif upon time's stream 

My lonely bark is driven, 
Remembrance of thy song will gleam. 
And haunt life's drear delusive dream. 

Like angel notes from heaven. 

Thy fragrant flowers are fair to see. 
Their perfume rare discloses 
The gentle thought which prompted thee 
To send those lovely blooms to me, 
Those lilies and the roses. 

And though this song but faintly rings 
With echoes of my feeling. 



136 Ranch Verses. 

Remember, lady, he who sings, 
Alas ! was born with feeble wings,— 

His thoughts are past revealing \ 



THE RANCHMAN'S RIDE. 

TTURRAH for a ride on the prairies free, 

On a fiery untamed steed. 
Where the curlews fly and the cayotes cry, 
And the fragrant breeze goes whispering by ; 

Hurrah ! and away with speed. 

With left hand light on the bridle-rein, 

And saddle-girths cinched behind. 

With lariat tied at the pommel's side. 

And lusty bronchos true and tried. 

We '11 race with the whistling wind. 

We are off and away, like a flash of light 

As swift as the shooting star. 
As an arrow flies towards its distant prize. 
On ! on we whirl toward the shimmering skies ; 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 

As free as a bird o'er billowy sea 

We skim the flowered Divide, 
Like seamews strong we fly along. 
While the earth resounds with galloping song 
As we plunge through the fragrant tide. 



The Ladies^A Toast, 137 

Avaunt with your rides in crowded towns ! 

Give me the prairies free, 
Where the curlews fly and the cayotes cry, 
And the heart expands 'neath the azure sky ; 

Ah ! that 's the ride for me. 



THE LADIES— A TOAST. 

TO " DI VERNON." 

t^ OD bless the ladies — everywhere — 

^^ And all their lovely graces ; 

This world would be a world of care 
Without their winsome faces. 

Come ! fill the cup with purest wine, 
Let every lip now press them ; 

Here 's to the ladies ! fair, divine- 
Again I say, God bless them ! 

They brighten all our weary hours ; 

To them the power is given 
To make life's pathway bloom with flowers. 

And gild this earth with heaven. 
Nay ! chivalry — it is not dead, 

Though knightly Bayard 's perished, 
For manhood's shield is always spread 

Toward lovely woman cherished. 

Though silent now the troubadours, 

And hushed the minstrels' singing, 
All hearts still throb — the poet soars 



138 Ranch Verses, 

When Beauty's songs are ringing. 
So fill the cups again, my boys, 

And clink the brimming glasses — 
Here 's to the noblest of our joys ! 

Our ladies and our lasses ! 



THE NEW YORK GIRL. 

T HAVE known dark sefioritas, 
•*" And proud Creole maidens rare { 
I have seen Parisian ladies, 

And some British beauties fair ; 
But of all the royal women 

That are leaders in life's whirl, 
I swear there 's none to equal 

The dashing Gotham girl. 

She is charming, chic^ and rapid, 

Full of graces that beguile, 
And of all our Yankee maidens. 

She 's the one that leads in style. 
Oh, her dresses are bewitching, 

And her costume always suits, 
For her raiment is " the latest," 

From her bonnet to her boots. 

Ah, she loves a mild flirtation. 
For she 's practised all the parts ; 

She has read the latest novels. 
And is up in all the arts. 




THE NORTHERN LILIES. 



The Boston Girl, 139 

She 's a cynic and sarcastic, 

Yet she seldom speaks her mind, 

But withal she 's still a woman 
Truly noble, good, and kind. 

So salute her now, " deah chappie," 

And remember what I say, 
That the New York girl 's a winner 

From Fifth Avenue to Cathay. 
Oh, I doff my old sombrero 

To this Queen of Beauty's pearls. 
And to-night I say, God bless 'em ! 

The dashing Gotham girls ! 



THE BOSTON GIRL. 

QHE usually wears glasses — 
*^ Has a cool and thoughtful air — 
Oh, she " dotes on Browning classes," 
And she talks about Voltaire. 

She is always craving knowledge, 
For she dwells in learning's mart ; 

Ah, she longs to found a college. 
Or to start a school of art. 

She does not care for fashion. 

Or the cool New England youth ; 

For "science is her passion," 
And she only pines for — Truth ! 



I40 Ranch Verses, 

She *s a realist — calm, discerning, 
Scorning everything ideal ; 

And her spirit *s always yearning 
For the " realness of the real " ! 

She has aims and plans by dozens, 
For her nature is intense ; 

And she apes her English cousins 
In broad a's — and common-sense. 

No ! she never is " romantic," 

And she thinks " most men are fools' 

For she nearly drives them frantic 
With her knowledge born of schools. 

She 's a critic and a teacher, 
And she plays a useful part ; 

But, alas ! this cultured creature 
Lets her brains usurp her heart ! 



THE WESTERN GIRL. 

T HEARD the deep bass-vioFs cry 
-*• Float through the fragrant night ; 
I saw fair angels drifting by 
In youth's purpureal light. 

My lips were near her dreamy hair, 

Close to a nestling rose, 
That breathed soft incense to the air. 

Blessing such sweet repose. 



The Southern GirL 141 

Her little hand lay warm in mine, 

I watched her starry eyes, 
Pure, soft, and rare, deep and divine 

As realms of paradise. 

We floated on in dreamy dance, 
Kissed by the wooing breeze ; 

My cares asleep in fancy's trance 
Near Heaven's Hesperides. 

Oh, could I thus forever tread 

O'er trouble's stormy sea ; 
My angel spoke — my ideal fled — 

" / 'm blowed^ let 's quit^'' said she. 



THE SOUTHERN GIRL. 

T T ER face is like a tropic sea, 
■*■ ■*■ Soft is her olive cheek, 
Her eyes withhold some happy dream, 
She seldom cares to speak. 

Ah ! sometimes silence will express 
Far more than prattling words. 

And yet her voice is low and sweet 
As song of mocking-birds. 

Her pensive smile is like the kiss 

Of moonlight on the hills ; 
Her wooing laugh is pure and clear 

As tinkling mountain rills. 



142 Ranch Verses, 

She plays the languorous, soft guitar 
Beneath the orange-trees ; 

She knows the songs that zephyrs sing 
To tropic twilight seas. 

She 's gentle, lovely, rare, and pure, 
The poet's living dream ; 

A flower that haunts my memory, 
A lily on life's stream. 



THE CALIFORNIA GIRL. 

'T^HERE 's a wild rose breath of beauty 
^ 'Bout the California girl, 
That intoxicates the senses, 
And makes the spirits whirl. 

She is breezy as the zephyr 

On the fair Pacific seas. 
Yet as balmy as the fragrance 

Of her blooming almond-trees. 

Her laugh is like the music 

Of those crystal mountain streams, 

That ripple through the valleys 
Of her buoyant land of dreams. 

She is gen'rous and impulsive. 
Has a keen and cultured mind ; 

She is bright, and pure, and glowing, 
With a heart of gold refined. 




THE GENTLE MAGNOLIAS THAT BLOOM IN THE SOUTH." 



The Ladies of Dixie, 143 

Her voice is like the echo 

Of some dear old Spanish tune, 

While her presence is a garden 
Of the fairest flowers of June. 

She 's a royal child of nature 

Cradled by the sunset seas ; 
She 's the Queen of the Sierras, 

Wooed by every incensed breeze. 

You '11 surrender when you meet her 
(Ah, she gave my heart a twirl), 

She 's our twilight seiiorita. 
Is the California Girl. 



THE LADIES OF DIXIE. 

T F the ladies of Dixie had marched to the field, 
-■- The war would have never been fought ! 
Every man had surrendered to such graces re- 
vealed 
And the Yankees would all have been caught! 

The lilies that bud in the cold, stately North 

Are royal and graceful to see — 
But the gentle magnolias that bloom in the South 

Are the flowers of fragrance for me. 



144 Ranch Verses, 

Their pure, pensive perfume surpasses all art— . 

I care not what others may say, 
This Yankee surrenders and yields up his heart 

To the lovely magnolias for aye ! 

His cannons are silent — all warfare is past— 

The eagle is tamed by the dove ; 
My lady of Dixie has conquered at last 

With the wonderful arrows of love. 

Our people are one — and the pine woos the palm— . 

The palmetto oft dreams of the pine ; 
The West for the East has a pure, glowing charm, 

And our union of States is divine. 

So let us be kinder — our future is bright. 

Let the war drums forevermore cease. 
With shoulder to shoulder, let *s work for the right, 

Controlled by the angels of peace. 



THE OLD MACKENZIE TRAIL. 

STRETCHING onward toward the sunset, 
Over prairie, hill, and vale. 
Far beyond the Double Mountains 
Winds the old Mackenzie Trail. 

Ah, what thoughts and border mem'ries 
Does that dreaming trail suggest ; 

Thoughts of travellers gone forever 
To the twilight realms of rest. 



The Old Mackenzie Trail 145 

Where are now the scouts and soldiers, 
And those wagon-trains of care, 

Those grim men and haggard women ? 
And the echoes whisper — where ? 

Ah, what tales of joys and sorrows 

Could that silent trail relate ; 
Tales of loss, and wrecked ambitions, 

Tales of hope, and love, and hate ; 

Tales of hunger, thirst, and anguish. 
Tales of skulking Indian braves, 

Tales of fear, and death, and danger, 
Tales of lonely prairie graves. 

Where are now that trail's processions 
Winding westward sure and slow ? 

Lost ! — ah, yes, destroyed by progress, 
Gone to realms of long ago. 

Nevermore shall bold Mackenzie, 
With his brave and dauntless band, 

Guide the restless, roving settlers 
Through the Texas border land. 

Yes, that soldier's work is over. 
And the dim trail rests at last ; 

But his name and trail still lead us 
Through the borders of the Past. 



146 Ranch Verses, 



LINES TO AN ARTIST IN NEW YORK. 

M. T. D. 

" I ^HERE 's a snug little nook in the city's great 
'■' heart, 
Far above the dull rumble of care ; 
'T is the home of a painter — the birthplace of art, 
A studio dainty, o'erlooking trade's mart, 
A beautiful castle in air. 

There the sun loves to come, and he lingers all day ; 

There the wind sighs its musical bars ; 
There the twilight's last kiss gilds the sky far away, 
And the zephyrs go wooing the moonbeams at play, 

Where the grim chimneys dream of the stars. 

There are curious things in that snug little room, 
Full of pictures and paintings galore ; 

There are keepsakes and trophies, and flowers in 
bloom, 

Old sea-chests and fish-nets, and jars of perfume. 
And deer-heads hung over the door. 

There are pious prayer-rugs and friendly old books, 

Rare orchids in bloom on old plates ; 
There are strange little mirrors inviting sly looks. 
Low divans and lounges and chairs in queer nooks^ 
Suggestive of fond tete-d-tetes^ 



A Song, 147 

But of all the rare things in that dear little place, 

Of all that fair plunder and pelf, 
The fairest of all is a patrician face, 
A picture of beauty — an ideal of grace, 

A study — the artist herself ! 



A SONG. 

"I X /"E are tired of new-fangled verses, 
^ ' Oh, sing us some old-fashioned song. 
Full of music, and fire, and pathos. 

From a heart that is generous and strong. 

Yes, give us a song full of feeling, 

Such rhymes as the Northers rehearse, 

Some sonnet of Nature's revealing ; 
We are tired of " magazine verse." 

Oh, sing of the rain on the shingles. 
Or the caroling notes of the birds. 

And let the deep chords of the ocean 
Resound through the musical words. 

Then breathe us the song of the zephyrs, 
As they sigh through the musical pines, 

And let the far cry of the sea-birds 
Re-echo again in thy lines. 

Oh, sing the pure songs of life's river 
As it flows from the fountains of youth, 

Such music is welcome forever, 

For it whispers of Love and of Truth. 



148 Ranch Verses, 

Then sing us a song for the people, 
A tune that 's unfettered by art, 

A song that will make the world better, 
And live in the depths of the heart. 

Yes, sing us a song full of feeling, 
Such songs as the Northers rehearse, 

Some sonnet of Nature's revealing ; 
We are tired of new-fangled verse. 



A MEMORY OF WASHINGTON SQUARE, 

N. Y. 

"X AT" HEN I was a bachelor — long, long ago, 
• ' And lived on old Washington Square, 
Ah, then I was happy, no care did I know, 

For I dwelt in a castle of air ! 
How well I remember that snug little room. 

With its books and its old easy chairs ; 
It was fitted with hangings from Fancy's gay loom, 
And Hope was the beacon that lightened its gloom, 

And youth never thought of steep stairs. 

There, there all alone, in a tattered old gown. 

With my pipe by the cheerful grate-fire, 
I could muse far above the dull roar of the town. 
And watch the soft ashes sift silently down. 

As my fancies rose higher and higher ; 
There, lost in fond dreams by the embers' warm glow, 

While the smoke curled in clouds through the air. 
How happy was I in that lost long ago, 

When I lived on old Washington Square, 



Ye Bachelors^ Beware / 149 

I had things in that room with its queer little 
nooks, 
That were full of old memories to me. 
There were trophies, and pictures, and friendly old 

books, 
Old sabres, and pistols, and rusty old hooks. 

And shells from the Tropical Sea. 
But of all the cheap treasures which bachelors 
love. 
There was one which I cherished with care, 
'T was a souvenir dainty — a mousquetaire glove, 
That hung on the looking-glass there. 

And to-night, far away from old Gotham's gay 
sights. 

As I hear the wild blue Northers blow, 
I wonder who lives in that room up four flights, 
I wonder who smokes by that fire these nights. 

At my castle in days long ago. 
Does some jolly bachelor live in that den, 

Does he cherish a soft mousquetaire^ 
Ah, well, let it pass — I am wiser since then, 

Since I lived on old Washington Square. 



YE BACHELORS, BEWARE ! 

O HE is pensive and pouting and pretty, 
*^ She is dainty and dimpled and fair. 
She is winsome and wilful and witty — 
But, ah, my dear fellow, beware ! 



150 Ranch Verses. 

The sunbeam may dream of one river, 
Yet it glows on a hundred fond streams ; 

It is lovely, but fickle forever, 

Like this maiden who dwells in my dreams. 

She is graceful and gay and ascetic, 

She is pure as a vision of air ; 
She is cultured and so sympathetic — 

But, ah, my dear chappie, take care ! 

The roses that bloom in life's morning 
May glisten with jewels of dew, 

But they speak to their wooers a warning : 
Remember love's thorns when you woo ! 

For this dear little lovable maiden 

Is practised in dangerous arts. 
And her arrows of Cupid are laden 

With trophies of lost, bleeding hearts. 

And though she seems earnest and artless, 
As an angel from heaven, I swear 

This maiden, my mistress, is heartless, 
So I bid you, my rivals, beware ! 

For behold me, a sad, luckless sinner, 
She has robbed my gay life of its ease ; 

But I swear by the stars I will win her, 
So, give me a chance, if you please ! 

For though she seems earnest and artless, 
As some lovely Madonna divine. 



A Bar Harbor Idyl. 1 5 1 

Remember, old fellow, she 's heartless. 
(Her heart has surrendered to mine.) 

My coquette has tired of folly, 
The ranchman has corralled his dove ; 

Soon, soon, we '11 be happy and jolly, 
Bound fast by the lassoes of love ! 



A BAR HARBOR IDYL. 

"PAREWELL, gentle lady, the season is o'er, 

-*■ The summer's gay flowers are dying, 

Like the hopes in my bosom which blossomed of 

yore ; 
They wither and perish to blossom no more, 
And regret o'er the landscape is sighing. 

You remember that night — ah, that rare night in 
June, 
On the cliffs near the whispering ocean, 
Where the light ripples laughed 'neath a silvery 

moon, 
And the soft fluted zephyrs sighed love's rarest 
tune, 
How I pledged you my faith and devotion. 

You are lovely I grant, you have long ruled my 
heart, 
I have loved you with summer's warm passion. 
But alas, my affection is doomed to depart ; 



152 Ranch Verses. 

For truth has discovered the depths of your art. 
The arts of a coquette of fashion. 

Ah, the harvest is past — 't was a harvest of woe, 

Too long at thy shrine have I tarried, 
Pray give back my heart — it was not mine, you 

know, 
For this telegram says : " Come and meet me, dear 
Joe," 
For you see — well, you see — I am married 



ACROSTIC. 

(Birthday lines to the baby boy of Henry A. Chittenden, Jr., 
of the New York Herald.) 

r^ OD grant thee much success, my boy, 
^-^ And may thy life bestow 
New honors on an honored name, 
On that proud name — Gano ! 

Consider well thy ways in youth, 

Have lofty aims, my boy ; 
Invest in kindness, love, and truth — 

These things will bring thee joy. 
True worth is more than worldly gain, 

Engage to bless mankind, 
New riches then shalt thou obtain — 

Delights the noble find. 
E'en then at last, when life is o'er, 

New joys shall bless thee evermore. 



The Shrewsbury River, 153 

THE SHREWSBURY RIVER. 

TO MR. AND MRS. LYMAN D. GILBERT. 

/^NWARD rolls the Shrewsbury river, 
^-'^ Sweeping proudly to the sea, 
Dreaming oft, yet slumbering never, 
Clothed in mists and mystery. 

Speak and tell thy tales, O river ! 

Tell thy story now, I pray, 
Whisper me some olden legend 

From thy realms of yesterday. 

Oft when moonbeams fair are flying 

O'er the ivory silver seas, 
And the zephyrs sad are sighing 

Through the drowsy whispering trees, 

I have heard thy ripples murmur 
Ghostly songs in rhythmic flow — 

Of old faces drifted seaward 
In the far-off long ago. 

Thou hast heard Atlantic dirges 

And the lonely sea-bird's cries. 
Long before the birth of Moses, 

E'er brave Hudson blessed thy skies. 

E'er he watched the golden twilight 
Plant her banners starry furled, 



154 Ranch Verses. 

Far beyond the sun-kissed Highlands 
Of a new-found western world. 

Thou hast heard the billows murmur 
In the dusky red man's ear, 

That there is a Great, Great Spirit, 
Ever present, always near. 

Thou hast seen red-handed rovers, 
Fierce and wild amid thy groves — 

Ay, and buried wreckers* treasures 
On the margins of thy coves. 

Well thou know'st the sailors' coming. 
Homeward-bound to kiss their brides. 

Gladly singing in the morning 

As their vessels stemmed thy tides. 

Youth and beauty rare have rested 
On thy gently swelling breast ; 

Yachtsmen gay and weary seamen 
Love thy Horseshoe harbor rest. 

Ah, what hearts of joys and sorrows 
Thou hast won in thy league's race ! 

Ah, what wealth of rich to-morrows 
Has flown seaward o'er thy face ! 

Ah, what throngs of ardent lovers 
Thou hast lost since days of yore ! 

Lost ! ah, yes ! Their spectre vessels 
Shall return to thee no more. 



Rondeau — Ye Friendly Book, 155 

Fare thee well, thou generous river ; 

May life's current flow like thee, 
Blessing lives and lands forever, 

And at last wind safe to sea ! 



RONDEAU— YE FRIENDLY BOOKS. 

TO J. E. B. 

'VTE friendly books — old friends of mine, 
■'■ There is no comradeship like thine j 
For who like thee canst always show 
The wisdom which thy pages know, 
Or who thy faithfulness divine ? 
If we to thee our hearts incline, 
Ready art thou with storied line 
To banish all our grief and woe, 
Ye friendly books. 

Thou standest guard in rain or shine. 
Like sentinels with gilded sign, 
To point the way that all may know 
The royal road to learning's show, 
Where all mankind can delve or dine 
Ye friendly books. 



156 Ranch Verses, 



A STOCKMAN'S ADVENTURES IN 
NEW YORK. 

A STORY OF THE BUNCO GAME. 

TIT" HEN I give up trail-herdin*, an' thought I *d 

* ' jes' vamoose, 

An' see my nativ' kentry in a first-class freight 

caboose, 
I wuz called er knowin' feller, an' I owned the 

Z Bar brand, 
Fer in getherin' maverick yearlin's, I hed proved a 

lively hand. 
I hed heerd thet New York city wuz a dandy 

place fer camps. 
With water, grass, 'n clover — (pervided yer hed 

stamps). 
So I riz a heap uv munney fer my pasture at " the 

Branch " ; 
An* got shet uv all my cattle thet wuz on the Z Bar 

Ranch ; 
Then I bought a new sombrero, an' an outfit thet 

wuz neat. 
An', sez I, *' Wal neow, ole feller, we '11 get there 

with both feet." 
So I rid to Jersey City, an' struck the round-ups 

there. 
An* got aboard er steamer, an' took passage fer the 

fair J 



A Stockmatis Adventures in New York. 157 

When at last the vessel landed I broke from her 

ole pen, 
An' galloped 'cross a dirty trail uv teams an* cussin' 

men ; 
An' up ole Cortlandt street I rolled, er-feelin* kinder 

blue, 
When all ter onct, a feller cum an' sez, " Why, heow 

de do ? 
I us'ter know yer in the West, yer name iz Joseph 

Breen ? " 
"Yer wrong ! " sez I, " I 'm Texas riz, I cum from 

Abilene, 
An' on the ole T diamond trail they calls me Jeeter 

Brown. 
This hyar iz my furst takin' in uv this hyar takin* 

town ! " 
" Oh, ah," he sez, " excuse me, sar ! I 'm wrong, I 

see — good-day." 
An' then he vamoosed in the crowd, an' I hit big 

Broadway — 
Huh ! thet 's a canyon fer yer ! with houses on each 

side, 
An' the streams er-flowin' through hit iz a roarin* 

human tide ; 
The Clear Fork of the Brazos, hit ain't nuthin', so I 

say, 
Ter the noisy roarin' torrints wot 's a-flowin* through 

Broadway. 
Oh, them crowds jes' kep' a-comin', allers rushin', 

hurryin' through, 
An' there wuz thousands uv 'em, but nary one I knew. 



158 Ranch Verses, 

Then I felt kinder home-sick fer my dugout in the 

vale, 
Whar the ole owls wuz a-hooin' on the ole McKenzie 

Trail ; 
Whar the cattle wuz a-browzin* on the yeller-blos- 

somed sod, 
An' the pious plains wuz sleepin* with drowsy 

dreams uv God ! 
Oh, I longed fer them perairies in ole Texas far 

away, 
Fer I felt like I wuz smotherin' on that suff ercatin' 

day. 
Wal, az I stood there studdyin', feelin* lonesum- 

like and down, 
A hansum feller cum an' sed, "Why, how-dy ! 

Jeeter Brown ? 
When did yer leave ole Texas ? Wot 's the news in 

Abilene ? 
Heow iz Jim Lowden at the Bank, heow iz ole 

Keyrnal Deane ? 
I guess yer don't remember me, but I remembers 

you, 
I 've often seen yer on the Range down by the 

Kickapoo. 
I us'ter live in Abilene, my uncle 's Theo Heyck. 
He 's sot me up in business hyar, my name iz 

Charles Van Slike." 
Neow, you must jes' put up with me while stayin' 

hyar in town, 
Fer I 'm powerful glad ter see yer, my ole friend, 

Jeeter Brown." 



A Stockman* s Adventures in New York. 159 

Wal, I commenced er-swellin', kinder tickled at 

sech talk, 
From that hansum-lookin' feller on the Broadway 

uv New York ; 
He knew my town's best people, an' hit 'peered 

like he knew me. 
So I wuz glad ter see him, I wuz lonesum, don't 

yer see ? 
Wal, Van he soon suggested thet we drink an* 

hev a chat 
About our friends in Texas, an' ole times an* sech 

ez thet ; 
So we mozied up the Bowery inter one uv them 

saloons 
Whar the gals wuz slingin' whiskey an' a band wuz 

slingin' chunes. 
Then we drank ter Editor Hoeny, we drank ter 

Keyrnal Deane, 
An* we drank ter Sam Lapowski of the town of 

Abilene. 
Oh, the likker flowed like water, huh, I tell yer, 

we wuz gay — 
Oh, Van wuz jes' a daisy, an' I won't ferget that day. 
When we left thet thar The-a-ter — an' went shyin' 

up the street, 
I wuz feelin' powerful frisky — kinder skittish 

'round the feet. 
Soon we cum to a Museum — whar they showed a 

hump-back horse, 
An' Charley, he suggested thet we take hit in. — uv 

course. 



i6o Ranch Verses^ 

So we went inside sight-seein', till we met a chap 

who sed 
He could tell us our char-ack-ters by a-feelin' uv 

our head ; 
So we had our heads examined, most particularly 

mine, 
Fer I wuz a splendid subjeck, full uv bumps, an' 

traits — an' wine. 
Wal, after Doc hed lectured in er most delightful way. 
He perlitely intermated thet he 'd like ter hev sum 

pay, 
Then Charley showed a greenback, which the 

Doctor could n't change, 
So, of course, I paid the charges, which appeared 

a little strange, 
Fer the ole chap hed dun told us thet hiz lecture 

would be free. 
But, since Van wuz in fer payin', why, so wuz I, 

yer see. 
Right then I showed my money, the whole big 

chuffy pile, 
Till Van commenced hiz smilin', and said that I 'd 

struck ile ; 
Then he whispered confidential, sez he, " Now, 

Jeeter Brown, 
You 'd better leave thet at the Bank afore you 

paint this town. 
The city 's full uv sharpers, who are sure ter take 

you in. 
So let 's go 'round to my cashyeer and hive away 

yer tin." 



A Stockmafis Adventures in New York, i6i 

So we stepped " around the corner " to whar hiz 

Bank wuz at, 
Whar we found a cashyeer writin', who wuz plez- 

zant-like an' fat. 
Then I handed him my money, and took a big 

receipt, 
An' after drinkin' tew the Bank, we started up the 

street. 
The 'lectric lights wuz sizzin', fer hit wuz gittin' dark. 
But we took them high-up steam-kyars, ter go to 

Central Park ; 
An* we passed a beefy feller, full of New York 

Irish pride. 
Who kep' up an awful yellin', " step lively there 

inside ! " 
But I soon lost my desires fer ter see the flyin' 

views, 
Fer I wuz feelin' drowsy from thet Bowery Banker's 

Booze, 
An' I never noticed Charley, may be so he wuz n't 

there. 
Fer I fell asleep a-rockin', an' a-rushin' through 

the air. 
But hit hain't no us* ter finish, the sequil 's kinder 

tame, 
Fer yer see, I wuz the victum uv thet little Bunco 

Game. 
Slick Charley an' hiz pardners — the man on Cort- 

landt Street, 
That cashyeer an' thet Doctor, hed done me up 

complete. 

ZI 



1 62 Ranch Verses. 

Though I got my ole six-shooter, an* caved an* 

charged around 
A-lookin* fer my munney, them chaps could not be 

found. 
Ah, them Bunco Boys iz artful, az all pious men 

agree, 
If yer ever run across *em, jes' round 'em up — fer 

me ! 
An* when yer social fellers leaves the home-range 

with yer chork, 
Jest remember my experiunce with them sharpers 

in New York. 



TO A LADY PLAYING THE GUITAR. 

L. S. 

A S I pensive sit and listen, while her jewelled 
"^ fingers glisten 

Through some tuneful old romanza, on her airy 
sad guitar ; 
I indulge in recollections, and fond dreams of old 
affections. 
Which haunt my vagrant fancy like a vision 
from afar. 

Ah, I hear her spirit straying o*er the strings she *s 
softly playing. 
And I feel a gentle rapture swelling through this 
heart of mine ; 



The Vikings of Cape Ann. 163 

Far beyond the music stealing there 's a hidden 
chord of feeling, 
Which woos my restless nature like some melody 
divine. 

Yes, my lady proud and queenly, playing there 
midst dreams serenely, 
That tender chord has bound me to the portals 
of thy heart. 
There, ah there, O let me hover, for I fain would 
be your lover, 
Who from thy tuneful presence wouldst never- 
more depart. 



THE VIKINGS OF CAPE ANN. 

"W'E fishermen of Gloucester, 

That sail the Northern Sea, 
Ye hardy sons of Neptune, 

All hail, I say, to thee ! 
Though history sings of Norsemen. 

And Scotland boasts her clan. 
Here *s to our Yankee skippers, 

The Vikings of Cape Ann. 

Ye nurslings of the billows 
That wail on Norman's woe. 

There were no better seamen 
In days of long ago ; 



164 Ranch Verses, 

Through storms and death and danger, 
Through dark, wild winter nights. 

They cruise the seas from Iceland, 
To Thatcher's Island lights. 

Nursed by the wild Nor'easter, 

And cradled by the sea. 
These rugged Northern sailors 

Are stalwart, bold, and free. 
Through fogs and blinding snowstorms. 

From Labrador to Maine, 
They ply their dangerous calling 

With hook and trawl and seine. 

How oft at early morning, 

'Midst dreams of summer's calm, 
I 've watched their vessels sailing 

Seaward from Annisquam. 
And oft when twilight's kisses 

Have made the ocean smile, 
I *ve seen their dories dancing 

Off wild Monhegan's Isle. 

No matter where you find them, 

Where e'er these vessels be, 
They breathe a tale of danger, 

A romance of the sea ; 
They hint of wrecks and hardship, 

Of toil-worn, active lives. 
Of tempest-tossed, doomed seamen^ 

Of sad-eyed, wistful wives. 




THE VIKINQS OF CAPE ANN. 



To Summer, 165 

For many a family circle, 

On bold New England's main 
Waits for some sea-gone member, 

But waits, alas, in vain. 
And many a tangled graveyard 

Along that billowed lea, 
Contains this sad old story, 

This legend — " Lost at Sea." 

And yet these true-born sailors, 

In spite of dangerous toil, 
Still love their restless ocean 

And scorn the steady soil. 
Let history sing of Norsemen, 

And Scotland praise her clan, 
Here *s to our Yankee skippers, 

The Vikings of Cape Ann. 

East Gloucester, Mass., 1892. 



TO SUMMER. 

A SONNET. 

T^ECKED with her roses, roses rare, 

-"-^ With drowsy dreams in her laughing eyes, 

The Summer drifts from the Southern skies. 
While wreathed in her warm, glad golden hair ; 
The sunbeams glow like jewels there, 

And borne afar on her perfumed sighs 

The choired songs of the birds arise. 
Through the soft, voluptuous, vibrant air. 

Lo ! the slumbering lilies breathe and swoon, 



1 66 Ranch Verses, 

With pale delight, for the Summer's voice 

Has wed fair May to a royal June, 
And the bridesmaid Earth has blessed the choicei 

For the echoes ring with a joyous tune 
Which bids all listening life rejoice. 



TEXAS TYPES—" THE BAD MAN." 

T T E has a drooping winged moustache, 
'*■-*■ A little chin goatee ; 
His face is hard, he dresses flash, 
His eyes are strange to see. 

His boots have two-inch concave heels. 

He wears a big slouch hat ; 
He 's full of sand ! he never squeals, 

Has too much nerve for that. 

Oh, yes, he gambles — on the square—^ 
He sports gay diamond pins ; 

He has that cool, dare-devil air 
Whereby the gambler wins. 

You '11 always find "he 's killed his man* 

Or "rounded up a band," 
Or slain some greaser Mexican 

Down on the Rio Grande. 

And yet with all his scars and sin 
He seldom seeks a fight, 



To the Memory of Gen. R. S. Mackenzie, 167 

But when he does, he shoots to win 
Against all odds in sight. 

You '11 find him in the larger towns, 

He haunts the big bar-rooms, 
And, ah ! He haunts those silent mounds 

Which mark the city's tombs. 

For like some flowers of colder climes, 

Which wither while yet green. 
This Texas type of frosty times 

Soon leaves life's thorny scene. 

For he is now beyond the age 

And order rules the day ; 
Texas has passed the pistol stage^ 

The law has come to stay. 



TO THE MEMORY OF GEN. R. S. MAC- 
KENZIE. 

(Border hero, Indian fighter, and graduate of West Point, 
General in United States Army stationed in San Antonio, 
Texas. " He died of mental troubles " at New York, in 
1889.) 

IV/r ACKENZIE, thy warfare is o'er— 
■^'-*- Thy bold, loyal heart is at rest, 
Thy noble soul suffers earth's sorrows no more, 
For thy bark sailing seaward has reached the lone 
shore 
Of that far-away land of the blest. 



1 68 Ranch Verses, 

Brave hero, we mourn not for thee, 

Thou hast gone from life's troubles and care ; 
Thy stern soldier spirit forever is free ; 
It has joined the Grand Army encamped by the 
sea 

In the bivouac realms over there ! 

And yet since by love thou wert slain, 

In pity we bow o'er thy bier, 
And we sigh when we think of thy story of pain. 
Of that proud, loyal love that thou lavished iu 
vain. 

And in secret we shed the sad tear. 

But we feel that affection like thine 

Is not lost 'neath the gloom of the sod. 
That beyond the dark valley where love is divine, 
It will glow evermore and eternally shine 
In the balm-breathing Edens of God. 

Mackenzie, true soldier, good-by ; 

The wind wails thy long reveille, 
And to-night on the plains where the weird cay- 

otes cry, 
Far away o'er thy trail 'neath the tents of the sky, 

I breathe this slight tribute to thee. 



The Florida Keys, 169 



THE FLORIDA KEYS. 

T^AR away in the land of the graceful palmetto, 
-*■ Where the shy Southern Cross woos the fair 

crescent moon ; 
Where the mocking-birds sing midst the mangoes 
and myrtle, 

And life is a dream of perennial June ; 
Where the nautilus floats o'er an ocean of azure, 

And the rarest of incense perfumes every breeze ; 
There, there far away are some tropical islands. 

Fair islands of beauty — the Florida Keys. 

There the lime-tree and orange forever are wooing 

And showering gifts to the passionate rose, 
There the spectre crane dreams 'neath the droop- 
ing banana. 
And the warm, vibrant air breathes the life of 
repose ; 
There the frigate-bird drifts like a dream in the 
heavens, 
While the pelican broods on the mango-bush 
near. 
There the silver king swims through a palace of 
coral 
'Midst gardens of sponges that bloom all the 
year. 

There the lonely loon calls to the fair snowy ibis 
While the Seminole paddles his lazy canoe ; 



I/O Ranch Verses. 

There the cocoanut grows and the guava is bloom- 
ing 
Beneath a soft sky of cerulean hue ; 
Oh, the color and light and the charm of these 
islands, 
These islands of coral 'midst emerald seas, 
There the tired heart blooms into garlands of 
fancy. 
Ah, life is divine on the Florida Keys. 
BiscAYNE Bay, Fla. 



TEXAS TYPES, " THE TENDERFOOT." 

VT'OU can tell him by his " weepons !" 

■*• And his soft, confiding air, 
His bran-new gorgeous outfit. 
And his high-priced aged mare. 

He is primed with tales of dangers 
In the wild and woolly West, 

And bold dreams of robber rangers 
Disturb his nightly rest. 

He has queer ideas of Texas ; 

Thinks her people live in gore ! 
He seems queer to all the sexes, 

For his actions make folks roar. 

But he soon gets used to chaff, sir, 
For he 's green as April wheat, 

Yet for men to make you laugh, sir, 
I commend the Tenderfeet. 




>- 
< 

< 



■^^ t 



Broadway, N, F., 6 P. M, 171 

Soon he pines to be a cowboy 

And to ride a pitching horse, 
Ah, then you ought to see him. 

For he 's paralyzed — of course. 

Then he writes some lying story 

To his family far away, 
Some brave tale of border glory 

Where he figures in the play. 

If he goes back where he came from, 

He assumes a Western air, 
Then I tell you he is woolly ! 

And his actions make folks stare. 

Yes, you know I tell the truth, sir, 

JVow I never lie for pelf. 
But I was — yes ! in my youth, sir, 

Was a Tenderfoot myself ! ! 



BROADWAY, N. Y., 6 P. M. 

A LONE in the crowded thoroughfare 
^ ^ In the whirlpool of Broadway, 
I wander on in the evening air 
And watch the storied faces there 
At the close of the busy day.- 

On, on they rush with joy and woe. 
Each hurrying past his neighbor ; 
The rich, the poor, the high and low, 



1/2 Ranch Verses. 

Like a restless tide they ebb and flow 
From the rugged shores of labor. 

There are faces there in that motley crowd 

Which show misfortune's fingers ; 
There are some with features cold and proud, 
And some with shame and sorrow bowed, 
And some where pleasure lingers. 

On, on they sweep with rush and roar, 
A breathing stream of motion ; 

With wrecks and driftwood on its shore, 

A river flowing evermore 
Towards dim oblivion's ocean. 

And yet that whirl of hope and fear, 

That torrent of endeavor, 
Shall ebb and flow year after year. 
For though life's bubbles disappear, 

Its tide swells on forever. 



REFLECTIONS AT A YOUNG LADIES' TEA 

PARTY. 

T^HERE 'S a beautiful home in a realm that I 
* know 

In the proud mountain town of Montclair, 
Where the robins are singing and the wild asters 

grow, 
Where the warm zephyrs play and the sun loves to 
glow. 
Round a mansion which love builded there. 



Reflections at a Young Ladies Tea Party. 173 

And there by a mountain which dreams of the sea, 

One autumnal rare afternoon, 
As the soft twilight shadows stole down o'er the lea, 
I attended a party — A Five o'Clock Tea — 

A party I won't forget soon. 

Oh, the laughter and joy of those glad golden 
hours 
Ah, the beauty I saw gathered there 
Was as lovely and pure as a bouquet of flowers, 
It was culled from the gardens of youth's royal 
bowers 
That bloom in that Eden — Montclair. 

As the music arose with its plaintive bassoon, 
And the sunset's gold arrows were cast. 

There swept through my soul on that fair after- 
noon 

Old memories as fragrant as roses of June, 
Old far-away dreams of the past. 

As I watched the leaf curtains expand with the 
breeze, 

And saw those fair maidens drift by, 
I thought of old days by the far azure seas, 
Of an old hacienda 'neath magnolia trees* 

Of a home 'neath the tropical sky ; 

Of a home where the cypress is shrouded with 
moss. 
Where the jasmine breathes forth its perfume ; 



174 Ranch Verses. 

In a land far away *neath the fair Southern Cross, 
Where the lilies and roses are drooping with loss 
By the side of a lone tangled tomb. 

Ah, then as I looked at that beautiful throng 

Of loveliness, laughter, and youth, 
There swelled through my heart like the sigh of a 

song 
An echo of sorrow, a whisper of wrong, 

A question of Nature's stern truth. 

Oh, why must love's lilies soon learn of life's frost, 
Oh, why must youth's beauties soon fade ; 

Like the leaves in yon forest, soon, soon tempest- 
tossed. 

They must wither and perish and forever be lost 
In the gloom of oblivion's shade. 

Ah, this question of life and its weird mystery — 

Soon, soon the last bugle will call. 
Soon the muffled drum sounds the long, lone re- 
veille. 
And the spectre ships sail o'er death's desolate sea 

And Hie Jacet soon answers for all. 

Ah, yes, as I looked at that festival throng, 
Of beauty and youth gathered there, 

There swept through my soul, like the sigh of a 
song, 

An echo of sorrow which did not belong 
To that Five o'Clock Tea in Montclair. 



Farewell, Farewell, My Lady. 175 



FAREWELL, FAREWELL, MY LADY. 

T^AREWELL, farewell my lady. The mourn- 

■■■ ful zephyrs sigh 

That summer days are over, that we must say 
good-by, 

For all the drooping roses have felt that wistful 
spell 

Which haunts the listening landscape when sum- 
mer sighs " farewell." 

The sea-birds' songs are weary, and weary seems 
the sea, 

For mists of separation have parted you and me. 

No more we walk together along the lonely shore ; 

The lanes, the rocks, the meadows, remember us 
no more. 

Alas, the season 's over, and you will soon forget 

Your scattered summer lovers, who left you with 
regret. 

For now you 're in the city engulfed in fashion's 
cares. 

And flirting with your lovers among the million- 
aires; 

Your costumes are bewitching, you *re at the opera 
seen, 

And though a slave to fashion, you still are 
beauty's queen. 

You visit ail the theatres, you dabble in the arts, 



176 Ranch Verses, 

You ride out in your carriage, you trample over 

hearts, 
You go to church, my lady — I long to see you 

there, 
To view that glimpse of heaven, my angel bowed 

in prayer. 
But no, I 'm distant from you, and you, ah, you 

forget 
Your absent summer lovers, who dream about you 

yet. 

But, ah, proud pensive lady, sometimes perhaps 
there '11 be 

A far-off recollection, a longing for the sea ; 

Sometimes within your chamber, beside the em- 
bers* glow. 

Perhaps your jaded fancies will sigh for long ago ; 

Perchance your weary nature will dream of sum- 
mer's calm. 

Those peaceful woods and meadows, that vine em- 
bowered farm ; 

Then when you 're tired of fashion and all its glit- 
tering cares^ 

And tired of flirting lovers and doubtful million- 
aires, 

Ah, then, ah, then, my lady, perhaps you '11 not 
forget 

One loyal summer lover who 's faithful to you yet 



To the Memory of Major Daniel Gano, 177 



AL FRESCO ! 

A ROMANTIC youth of Bar Harbor so fair 
'^*- Was madly in love with a maid, 
And once after dark in the cool evening air 
He attempted a sly serenade. 

He warbled and sang with his rare tenor voice 

Till morning bejewelled the skies, 
But, alas for youth's hopes ! the maid of his choice 

Never came in response to his sighs. 

At last tired out and weary at heart, 

And swelling with rage and regret. 
He went to her door, where he read, with a start, 

" This large vacant house is — To Let ! " 



TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR DANIEL 

GANO. 

BORN, 1794 ; DIED, 1873. 

T T IS life was a poem of kindness and grace, 
-*■-*■ A sermon of love for mankind, 
His hope, like the sun, illumined life's face, 
He was good to the poor — he exalted his race, 
He was noble, sincere, and refined ! 

Xa 



178 Ranch Verses, 

His friends they were many — his equals were 
few, 
He was cultured and courtly and cool, 
He was gracious and generous to all whom he 

knew, 
He was gallant and fearless, an American true, 
"A gentleman of the old school." 

His monument 's more than all marble that 's 
scrolled, 

For his memory surpasses the arts ; 
By the chisels of Love his virtues are told. 
And his name is emblazoned in letters of gold 

On the portals of all of our hearts. 



TO A DALLAS LADY. 

T SING this song to one who long 
^ Has charmed me with a spell ; 
A lady who has blessed my life 

Far more than I can tell. 
'T were vain to try, I cannot guage, 

Her charms in feeble measures. 
For, oh, her mind and soul refined 

Are rich in mental treasures. 

Her song, with smiles, all care beguiles, 

To her the pow'r is given 
To gild all weary hearts with joy, 

And make this earth a heaven. 



.i^.'-''|i\Vi>". ' 





"a gentleman of the old school." 

(major DANIEL GANO ) 



The Lonely Congaree, 179 

She is a garland of delight, 

A queen of royal manner, 
A wreath of flowers from Southern bowers. 

From fair Louisiana. • 

Ah, yes ! she 's kind, you '11 always find 

Her heart is free from malice. 
She seems ideal, but yet she 's real, 

This lady lives in Dallas. 
This song I send to her, my friend, 

The loveliest of the sexes. 
Long may she live to bless the world 

And reign a Queen of Texas. 



THE LONELY CONGAREE. 

T ONG ago in South Carolina, 
"^ Near fair Charleston by the sea. 
Stood a lovely old plantation 
On the lazy Congaree. 

There in drooping Southern splendor 
Waved the tall palmetto trees, 

There the fragrant, rare magnolia 
Breathed its blessings to the breeze. 

There the sunlight loved to linger 
Through the golden incensed hours, 

There the humming-birds were wooing 
In a wilderness of flowers. 



l8o Ranch Verses, 

Ah, what memories of enchantment 
Doth my wayward fancy see, 

When I think of that old homestead 
On the dreaming Congaree. 

Here to-night within my chamber, 
Pensive by the embers' glow, 

How my memory backward wanders 
To the realms of long ago. 

I can hear the darkies singing, 
And the drowsy hum of bees, 

And the laughter of the children 
Playing 'neath the cypress trees. 

On the airy, bowered veranda. 
Partly hidden from the sight, 

I can see a graceful hammock 
And a vision clad in white. 

*T is the vision of a lady. 

Proud and pensive, darkly fair, 

Fairer than the royal flowers 
That were swooning in her hair. 

Ah, that face of wistful beauty, 
And those pure, commanding eyes 

Told of noble aspirations 
And the dreams of Paradise. 

There my roving, restless spirit 
Found at last a resting-place ; 




AH, THAT FACE OF WISTFUL BEAUTY." 



The Lonely Cougar ee. i8l 

There I found my earthly Eden 
In the heaven of a face. 

Then my life was filled with music 
And my heart from care was free, 

For I loved that dark-eyed lady 
Of the dear old Congaree. 

There we floated on the river 

In a lazy-oared canoe, 
There we dreamed life's old, old story, 

Old indeed, yet always new. 

How those moonbeams danced and glistened 
Through the soft, voluptuous air. 

How the ripples paused and listened 
To the romance whispered there. 

How the zephyrs breathed their passion 
As they kissed each truant tress, 

How those drooping lashes quivered 
When she softly answered " yes ! " 

• • • • • 

But, alas for youth's fair visions. 
That fond dream was not to be, 

For she sleeps below the lilies 
By the sobbing Congaree. 

Yes, the mournful winds are wailing 
Through those sombre cypress trees, 

And the flowers weep with sorrow, 
'Midst the sighings of the bees. 



1 82 Ranch Verses. 

Though that river still flows seaward 
As it flowed in days of yore, 

It is haunted now forever 

With that spectre — nevermore ! 

Yes, to-night I 'm sad and weary, 
Pensive by the embers' glow, 

For my spirit, like the river. 
Fondly dreams of long ago. 

Ah, my haunted soul drifts backward 
Through the realms of memory, 

For my heart is with the lilies 
By the lonely Congaree. 



THE SQUALL— OFF SANDY HOOK, N. J. 

TTIGH o'er the bowsprit flies the brine. 

As we cleave the crests of the white-cap sea ; 
Once more we quaff of the ocean's wine, 
Once more our prisoner hearts are free. 
With mainsail reefed and helm hard down. 
With rails a swash and a bending boom. 
Our stanch sloop reels past the bell buoy brown 
And shivers and leaps through the gathering 
gloom. 

With the wild wind's song in the whistling shrouds 
And a seething sea in our frosty wake, 

We scan the scurrying, muttering clouds 
And grimly note each tack we make. 



The Squall— Off Sandy Hook, N. J. 183 

On the leeward bow is Sandy Hook ; 

To the windward far the waves are white ; 
In the lap of night the Highlands look 

Like some huge sea-snake with eyes of light. 

The hissing rain is loosed at last — 

It sweeps and swishes around us all — 
The cordage wails, and the groaning mast 

Bends far to the kiss of a nor'east squall. 
We roll and pitch through the angry sea, 

O'er hills and valleys of waves we fly, 
Till the hoarse, long order of " H-a-r-d a-lee ! " 

Is lost in the answers of " Aye, aye, aye ! " 

With rattle and roar we go about, 

The shivering sails swell out afar, 
With wind astern and our boom far out 

We weather and pass the harbor bar. 
The anchor lights shine out and gleam 

Like dancing jewels in night's dark crown, 
While across the bay twin beacons beam 

And glow o'er the Navesink Highland town. 

Now the storm has ceased, and the wind has passed, 

Yet a wild sea wails on the windward shore ; 
With all things tight, and our anchor cast, 

The yachtsman's cruise for the day is o'er. 
Eight bells have struck as we go below 

To enjoy our cabin of snug delight, 
But we soon turn in, for a lullaby slow 

Chugs under our keel — Good-night ! Good- 
night ! 
Sloop Yacht "J/>'r//j." Summer i8q2. 



1 84 Ranch Verses. 



FAREWELL. 

PJ^AREWELL, farewell, ye summer flowers, 

■*■ Pale autumn cries, prepare ! 
Adieu, adieu, ye fragrant bowers. 
Death lingers near with leafy showers 
To deck thy funeral bier ! 

Alas, alas, youth's flowers of yore, 

Oh, where, oh, where are ye ? 
Dead, sigh the zephyrs to the shore ; 
Lost, sob the echoes evermore ; 

Gone, wails the whispering sea. 

Good-by, good-by, since we must go, 
Since all must hear Death's knell. 

Adieu, ye withered wreaths of woe ; 

Adieu, stern Nature's echoes low, 
Life is a lo?ig Farewell ! 



"OUTWARD BOUND." 

Steamer Concho en route north. 

Galveston, June, 1892c 

"PROUD Southern land, farewell, farewell ! 
^ Our bark is on the sea ; 
The anchor 's weighed, the breezes swell — 
The Concho sobs its parting knell 
To bear us far from thee. 




D- 



o 
U 



A Question of Profit, 185 

The warm gulf zephyrs woo the shrouds 

With many a wistful sigh ; 
The ocean's dome is flecked with clouds 
And from the seaward gazing crowds 

There swells — a long good-by. 

The whispering ripples onward glide 

With loving, laughing sound. 
Our stately vessel breasts the tide 
And filled with steamer breathing pride 

She plunges " Outward Bound ! " 

Though far on foreign shores we dream 

Or 'midst the isles of Maine, 
Fond memories of the South will gleam 
And fancy's inward eye will beam 

With thoughts of — home again ! 

Soon sinks the sun in twilight's sky ; 

Sad wanes the wistful light, 
The eager sea-birds homeward hie, 
Like winged dreams that landward fly 

Fair Southern land — good-night ! 



A QUESTION OF PROFIT. 

"\ 'X THEN the curtain rolls down, and thy life's 
^ ^ farce is ended, 

And the grim prompter, Death, calls an end to 
your part, 



1 86 Ranch Verses. 

Will it profit you then that your life was expended 
In hoarding and stinting while starving your 
heart ? 

When the story is told and thy book has been 
written, 
And the contents show nothing but chapters on 
self, 
Will it profit you then that you 're gone and for- 
gotten, 
And lost in oblivion and laid on the shelf ? 

When the last debt of all has been surely collected 

And you sleep in the silence and gloom 'neath 

the sod, 

Will it profit you then, when your life is dissected, 

And your shams and your cheats are computed 

by God ? 



THE DYING SCOUT. 

A STORY OF THE ABILENE COUNTRY, TEXAS. 

/'"^OME, Pinto, ole feller, creep close to me side, 
^-^ For the norther is comin' across the Divide ; 
I knows its wild muzic, so shrill an' so strange, 
An' the owls iz hoo-in' outside on the range ; 
The cayotes ar' roamin' the prairies ter-night, 
They 're awaitin' fer me, they 're hungry with fight. 
This pain it ar' awful, an' the meat iz all gone, 
An' the fire won't last, I 'm afeered, till the morn, 



The Dying Scout. 187 

An' our blanket iz ragged, but we iz alone, 

So we '11 share it ter-night, though I 'm cold az a 

stone ; 
But them flames iz a-laughin' an' smilin' with glow, 
An' they make me feel good like in days long ago, 
When I wuz light-hearted an' waz n't a fool, 
An' played mumblepeg on the grass, near the 

school, 
With dear little Bess — bless her honest blue eyes — 
But she 's far away, mabbie home in the skies. 
Fer thet thar Jim Basset, the storekeeper's son. 
He jilted my Bessie an' thought it whar fun, — 
An' he ruined her, too, so I settled him ; 
(P'r'aps I would n't be hyar if it waz n't fer Jim) 
Oh, Bessie wuz lovely, all kindness an' joy, 
An' I jist worshipped her with the love uv a boy. 



But, Pinto, ole feller, thet mother er mine, 
Wuz the darlin'est mother, jes' angel divine, 
She 'd nurs' the sick nabors, wharever they 'd be 
An' she allers wuz prayin' fer Sandy an' me ; 
But Sandy fergits her, an* its little he keers 
Fer his brother thet 's scoutin* for nigh twenty years. 
Then thar wuz Aunt Lucy, so gentle and mild, 
She allers wuz smilin' an' said I '' wuz wild " ; 
Yet somehow she liked me, it whar no mistake, 
Fer she allers wuz givin' me soft ginger cake ; 
An' she 'd tell me long stories an' sing ter me too, 
Oh, I tell yer I loved her, I loved me Aunt Lou. 
Her heart it wuz bigger than the warm tropic sea, 



1 88 Ranch Verses. 

An' sich lives ar* sermons, ter fellers like me, 
Who b'lieves in religion thet comes from the heart, 
An' hates false pretence, an' the hippercrit's part. 
I jedge a man's actions, instead uv his pray'r, 
An' I never goes back on what 's honest an' squar', 
An' though I 'm so triflin,' such a poor human clod, 
Wild nature hez taught me the wizdom uv God. 
An' some day, ole feller, when I 'm over this pain, 
We '11 go home tergether, an' be happy again. 



We '11 find the old homestid, with its birds an' its 

trees, 
Whar life wuz all music an' flowers an' bees ; 
Whar I loved ter go swimmin' with the lilies so 

cool, 
In them years long er go when I hated the school. 
But the fire is dyin', its dark an' so cold. 
An' Pinto, ole feller, I 'm puny an' old ; 
An' the door iz a-creaking so sad in the wind, 
But we 's close tergether, ole chap, never mind. 
Hez I ever hurt yer sence I found yer thet day, 
A perp on the trail an' the boys far away ? 
Yer knows what I 'm sayin', I see by yer eyes. 
But yer mad, my ole doggie, an' thet 's a surprize. 
Thar ! thar ! my ole feller, what 's makin' yer bark ? 
I did n't serpose yer wuz skeered uv the dark ; 
But yer say them iz eyes gleamin' in at the door, 
Wall, I never have noticed sich doin's before. 
So Pinto, good feller, creep close to me side, 
Fer the norther is moanin' across the Divide. 



The Dying Scout. 189 



Hark ! muzic ! I heers it, so mournful an' strange, 
Like lost children's wailin' outside on the range ; 
But the cayotes are watchin' our dugout ter-night. 
They 're waitin' fer me, an' they 're hungry with 

fight; 
An' I am so puny, an* shiverin' too, 
But Pinto, dear feller, I 'm pardners with you ; 
An' you are so honest an' faithful an' brave, 
Thet you 'd starve ter death on your ole marster's 

grave ; 
But I feels better now than fer many a day, 
So cheer up, ole feller, don't whine that 'er way ; 
Fer when the perairies iz kivered with flowers, 
An' the mockin'-birds sing an' the hills iz all ours. 
We '11 hunt an' we '11 roam az we did long er go, 
Two pardners tergether, in pleasure an' woe ; 
An' we '11 go home agin, to the banks of the stream, 
Whar the ole folks iz livin' an' life iz a dream ; 
An' with all our wrong-doin's we '11 try ter live 

right ; 
An', Pinto, dear feller — old Pinto ! — good-night ! 



But Pinto, poor fellow, moans wild at his side. 
For the scout, with the norther, has crossed the 
Divide. 



1 90 Ranch Verses, 



RETURNING TO THE RANCH. 

WJ ELL, fellers, I 've got home agin, and hit 

seems sorty strange 
To mosey roun' the ole corrals on this hyar lonely 

range. 
This evenin* az the sun went down, and I cum up 

the trail, 
An* seen our little low-roofed house a squattin' in 

the vale, 
An* when I struck the brandin* pens and heered 

old Pinto's barks. 

An* listened at the cagey Jack and them ole medder 

larks, 
Then when I looked at Skinout Hills a-veiled in 

purple air, 
The twilight seemed to smile at me an' glow a 

welcom' there. 
An* when I seen the S. B. brand, an' that ole 

sorghum stack, 
Them saddles hangin' by the door, hit seemed like 

gittin' back; 
But when I viewed thet pided steer, and heered yer 

, had no rain, 

I knowed thet I hed hit the ranch, hed shore got 

home again! 

I Ve seen a heep uv plezzant things, and yet hit did 
me good 



Returning to the Ranch. 191 

Ter spy ole Jim in his ole jeans jest packin* in the 

wood ! 
An' thar was Buck an' Horse-shoe Sam, an' thar 

upon the still, 
All smiles an* spurs an* high-heeled boots, wuz 

russler Windy Bill. 
Oh, Bill, they say, hez got renown, an* perhaps you 

may recall 
How he performed one Christmas time an* led the 

" cowboys* ball." 
Then az I crossed the littered yard and pulled the 

lazy latch, 
An' seen them ole termater cans, I knowed 't was 

livin* batch. 
An* when I ate them unblessed beans and lingered 

round the pork, 
I thought of London's tabble dotes and dinners in 

New York; 
But when I chose some soggy bread, and seen the 

fellers look, 
I knowed thet I wuz home agen — thet Windy Bill 

was cook! 

Well, ez we sot around the fire and heered the 

coyotes' cries, 
And listened at the owl's hoo-00, I told some 

whoppin' lies. 
Yes; while the boys chawed navy-plug, I lied an* 

yarned about 
My travels over Ian an* sea until their eyesd 

bugged out. 



192 Ranch Verses. 

At last the boys rared back to talk, an Hash Knife 

showed his hat, 
An' then I heered of maverick steers, an' kyort, 

an' sech az that. 
They joked about a shootin' scrape, an' John who 

laid in jail. 
An' then they cussed the Deestrick Judge fer not 

acceptin' bail. 
At last old Horse-shoe blurted out from off his 

blanket bed — 
** I reckon that yer heered about yer yeller mare 

wot's — dead? 
She was a right peert little hoss, chuck full uv grit 

and pride; 
But she got puny when yer left, and then she up 

an' died!" 

Ah! then somehow a silence cum, an' in the chimbly 

there, 
I sorty kep' a seein' her — that little yeller mare ! 
I thought about them tricks an' ways, her honest 

faithful eyes. 
Until the moanin' midnight wind wuz jest a wailin' 

sighs! 
I.neverhed a friend like her, so activ', sure, an' true; 
No matter what the bizness wuz, she 'd allers pull 

yer through. 
An* onct at night she saved my life — outran a 

prairie fire; 
An' ez fer swimmin' swollen streams, uv thet she 'd 

never tire. 



Where the Woodpecker Knocks on the Door. 193 

An* often on the starlit plains, where we the night 

would pass, 
I 've heered that mare a munchin' songs out in the 

needle grass. 
Oh! when I cross the dark divide fer pastures over 

there 
I hope I '11 find that little hoss, my dear ole yeller 

mare. 



Well, all ter onct, while studdyin' on, I heered ole 

Windy snore! 
Ah! then I knowed I *d hit the ranch ! I 'd done 

got home fer shore. 



WHERE THE WOODPECKER KNOCKS ON 
THE DOOR. 

'W'ES, fellers, I'm back at the old ranch again, 

■*- the place that I feel is so dear, 
'Mongst the coyotes and rabbits and prairie dogs 

vain, and methinks it is good to be here. 
Where the birds are all singing around on the trees, 

and the owls are calling tu-whoo! 
Ah, there 's music to me in the soft-sighing breeze, 

and the northers are musical, too. 
You may talk of the pleasures and joys of the rich, 

your oprees and parties so gay, 
But I don't keer a fig fur them things an' all sich, 

fur yer see I 'm not built thet 'er way. 



194 Ranch Verses. 

Hit don't make much difference what any one says 

'bout the pleasures of life in New York, 
But for simon pure pleasure an' wild nature's ways, 

jest give me my ranch on the Fork. 
For here we 're all happy, away from the throngs, 

far away in the lone solitudes. 
Where the voices of Nature are full of sweet songs, 

full of music that matches all moods; 
And oft in the morning, the bright Texas morn, 

when our dreams of the night are all o'er, 
We awake from our slumbers, as sure as you 're 

born, by the woodpecker's knock on the 

door. 
Now *the people out here who attend to the ranch 

and rustle the outfit and herds 
Don't put on much style or keer for Long Branch, 

but they keer for us boys and the birds. 
They are kind to all critters, as you may suppose. 

The 'possums sleep under the house. 
The coyotes are friendly, as each chicken knows. 

We have prairie dogs tame as a mouse. 
The martins are nesting all under the eaves. The 

beef steers go nosing around. 
The house is wide open. No danger of thieves — 

there 's nothing to steal that I 've found. 
The heelflies make love to the heifers and cows 

The blackbirds just love that old steer. 
We *re at peace with the world, and away from all 

rows — oh, I tell you, we 're happy out here! 
Yet oft in the summer the rattlesnakes come to 

sleep in the shade of the yard; 



Where the Woodpecker Knocks on the Door. 195 

But the dogs wake them up till their rattles just 
hum — ah, the snakegressor's way is so hard! 

Still the best thing of all and the sound that I love 
is that music I mentioned before; 

It is sweeter to me than the song of the dove — is 
that woodpecker's knock on the door. 

Oh, this gay speckled bird is an old friend of mine, 

for here is just where he was born. 
He drinks from the bucket — our water is fine — 

and he runs the whole ranch every morn. 
He hops to the kitchen, stands in with the cook, in 

his knowing old woodpecker way; 
But if she don't feed him, he gives her a look, and 

then he just hammers his lay. 
" A rap a tap tap, a tap tap a tap tup ! " I must 

have my breakfast, you see. 
You people are lazy. It's time to get up! "A 

rap a tap, tap a tap, tap — tee ! " 
Oh, I tell you that bird is a knowing old cuss. He 

shows it with many a proof; 
And he makes a big racket and terrible fuss when 

he hammers away on the roof. 
"A rap a tap, tap a tap, tap a tap — tit" — these 

shingles, boys, never will do. 
They are full of wood insects. They '11 have to 

be split — " a rap a tap, tap a tap too." 
Yes, I tell you, he knows, that sapsucker bird, just 

what that old roof has in store. 
Ah me ! we have music which you may have heard, 

where the woodpecker knocks on the door. 



196 Ranch Verses, 

We don't envy " Teddy " his strenuous strife. 

We hope he won't get in a fix; 
But we 're stuck on the free easy West Texas life, 

far away from machine poly-ticks. 
Now, speaking of "ticks " — you know what I mean 

— we don't have those varmints out here. 
Though I 've heered they was kotched down in old 

Abilene on a Bar Y C Circle F steer. 
Our cattle are healthy. We 're over the line. 

Jones County from fever is free. 
Our crops are immense. Wheat and cotton are 

fine, but the nesters are close herding me. 
Now, I am a stockman who has a big range; but 

" the man with the hoe " is about. 
The country 's all fenced. There has come a big 

change. The ranchman will have to git out. 
The farmers are smiling. There 's plenty of rain. 

Our new town of Stamford is grand. 
They say that old "Anson will shore git the train " 

— and the settlers is wanting more land. 
I suppose we will have to gear up and go west, 

pull our freight for the foot of the Plains, 
Where the prairie dog sneezes and pulls down his 

vest and the jackrabbit prays for the rains. 
But no matter what happens, wherever we go, we 

shall think of old S Forty-Four, 
That ranch on old Skin Out — which you perhaps 

know — where the woodpecker knocks on 

the door. 

Chittenden's Ranch, Anson, Tex., 

April, 1901. 

From Galvestou-Dallas News, 



Reciprocity. 197 

RECIPROCITY. 

PAUL and I as friends were noted 
Till we met the fair Miss Kate; 
Then, as rivals, both devoted, 
All our friendship turned to hate. 

Well, at last he won my treasure, 

They were married in the fall; 
Matrimony seemed such pleasure — 

How I envied happy Paul! 

Years have passed — poor Paul looks weary; 

I am single, gay, and free; 
Matrimony proved so dreary — 

Heavens, how Paul envies me! 



A VISION. 

WHAT DID THE LADY DO? 

A T midnight sad and lonely, within a haunted 
^^ room, 
Midst Hope's lost shattered idols, and Memory's 

gathering gloom, 
While spectral phantoms whispered thoughts of the 

shadowy shore 
And ghosts of wrecked ambitions suggested — 

Nevermore — 
We had a wondrous vision, a dream which cannot die, 
A rare immortal picture, in mansions of the sky. 



198 Ranch Verses. 

Above the moon's projections, beyond the loneliest 

star, 
Love sketched a glorious etching, we viewed it 

from afar. 
We saw a great-souled woman, with glorious earnest 

eyes, 
Holding the keys to heaven, at gates of Paradise. 
Pure as some chaste Madonna, proud as a queen 

of state, 
Saint Peter might have wooed her, up there at 

heaven's gate. 
,And there were countless lovers — alone, unloved 

apart. 
Who sought to pass the portals — the heavens of 

her heart. 
Some titled men approached her, and knights from 

everywhere; 
All failed to gain admission, they could not enter 

there. 
And then those weary wanderers, from whom all 

hope had fled, 
Departed sad and humbled — "She has no heart," 

they said. 
**She lives but for ambition, she dwells too far 

above 
The lowly ken of mortals — she does not care for 

love." 
At last an humble singer, a bard arrived too late, 
All travel-worn and weary — approached fair 

heaven's gate. 
He did not try to enter, but, ah, he lingered long. 



A Vision. 199 

And then at last at twilight, he hummed an ardent 
song. 

The song was unpretentious, but filled with earnest 
words, 

And music of the prairies, and notes of mocking- 
birds; 

*T was plaintive, sad, and pensive, and yet at times 
't was free 

And full of nature's music, and echoes of the Sea. 

It whispered of the flowers, pure kissed with sum- 
mer rain, 
And, though it never murmured, it breathed of 

echoed pain. 
It told an old, old story — a glorious song of youth, 
The hopes and dreams of mortals, and, ah, it 

thrilled with truth! 
At last some angels heard it; their harps resounded 

then — 
"This is an earnest singer, he loves his fellow-men. 
His heart beats high, but kindly, his music is 

sincere. 
And since his soul is weary, he ought to enter here. 
We pray you, good Saint Peter, and that proud 

Lady there. 
Admit the lonely singer, and free his heart from 

care." 
But then the vision faded, and now amidst life's din 
We wonder if she listened and let the singer in. 
Since angels heard the music so sweet and sad and 

true 
And pleaded for the singer — What did the Lady do? 



200 Ranch Verses. 



TOM MOORE. 

The Irish Poet lived in Bermuda in 1804. 

'T^ HOUGH the Shamrock may fade while the 

pale lily weeps 
In the Over-Sea lands where the Irish Bard 

sleeps, 
His memory blooms in these islands around 
And brightens the Dreamlands of Harrington 

Sound. 
While his name so immortal, resplendent, and 

strong, 
Illumines the world from the temples of song. 
Now never a dreamer or singer should soar, 
Without bowing low at the shrine of Tom 

Moore. 
They should visit Bermuda's proud Isles of the 

sea. 
Then view Walsingham and Moore's calabash 

tree; 
They should hum that fond air as the glowing 

sun sets, 
"The heart that has truly loved never forgets," 
"The Loves of the Angels," and rare "Lalla 

Rookh," 
And his soul-stirring songs they should ne'er 

overlook ; 
They should read about Nea, the Poet's sweet- 
heart. 
Then love the dead singer because of his art. 

(From Bermuda Verses.) 




" Walsingham " — Moore's House, Bermuda. 




The Fireplace in Moore's House. 



(From Bermuda Verses.) 



The Origin of the Term Maverick. 201 



THE ORIGIN OF THE TERM MAVERICK. 

/^OL. GEO. W. SAUNDERS, President of the 
^-^ Old Trail Drivers Association of Texas, 
gives the following information with reference 
to the origin of the term ** Maverick" in the 
Cattleman's Magazine. 

"The Maverick family, early settlers of San 
Antonio, moved a large herd of cattle to this 
section between 1850 and i860. During the 
war the cattle had no attention and scattered 
all over South Texas. Some of them several 
years old were not branded. Most of the stock- 
men branded their cattle, and as Maverick did 
not and the range got full of these big, un- 
branded Maverick cattle, people referred to 
them as 'Mavericks.' Thus the term 'Maver- 
ick' was soon applied to big, unbranded calves 
and yearlings all over the State." 

Hence to-day all stock unbranded 

Bear that early settler's name. 
Which was loved by "free range Rustlers" 

Ere the wire fences came. 
"Mavericks" then were "easy business" 

And the capital was small ! 
Just a Rope and Branding Iron, 

And some riding — that was all ! ! 



202 Ranch Verses. 



HOPE. 

(Dedicated to Ex-Ambassador James W. Gerard, at 
Palm Beach.) 

n^ HERE'S a dawn in the East, 
Past the Carnage of Quest, 
In a morning-lit land 
Where the soldiers shall rest. 

Where the mothers who loved them. 

And fond fathers, too. 
Shall all be united 

Beyond the Big Blue. 

For the Master has told us — 

And so it must be — 
"When the last trumpet sounds 

There shall be no more sea!" 

With "swords beat to plowshares," 

And "spears pruning hooks," 
A great day is coming — 

So say the Good Books. 

War's oceans of bloodshed. 

Time's trillions of tears, 
Will all be as naught 

When God's Dawn-Day appears. 



Hope. 203 

Life's cry, gentle reader, 

Will not be for long; 
Let's fill it with kindness 

And laughter and song. 

There's no harm in trying — 

So try all you can; 
Give up useless sighing 

And — ^fight like a man! 

Aye ! Fight for a finish — 

Till war flags are furled ! 
For the freedom of Nations 

And Peace of the World. 

Gerard has well told us 

Of things that he knew 
In his great book of "Four Years" 

His story rings true. 

Hence here 'neath the palm trees, 

Midst lilies and lime, 
**Ye Poet" salutes him 

With bugles of rhyme. 

And ye who have read this 

Give more — and then — give ! 
Help the third loan soon coming 

For YOUR COUNTRY MUST LIVE! 

(In Palm Beach Post, March 25, 1918.) 



204 Ranch Verses. 



TO THE RED CROSS LADY. 

(Upon her return to France, after convalescing at 
Palm Beach.) 

17 ARE WELL, proud, lovely lady! 

They say that thou art gone 
To realms around the trenches 
To gild Woe's World with — Dawn. 

For rarer than Aurora's, 
Who reigns in eastern skies. 

Are those pure salient sunbeams 
From thy celestial eyes. 

The radiance of your presence — 

Wherever you may be — 
Is fairer than the moonbeams 

Upon our tropic sea; 

And fairer than twin flowers 

Which humming-birds might woo 

Are thy lips' rosy petals 
Of passion kissed with dew. 

And like some lovely lily 

On willowy stem of grace 
You bloom to radiant beauty 

Through every clime and place. 

"From Greenland's icy mountains 

To India's coral strand," 
You traveled like a princess 

And waved your magic wand. 




Entrance Royal Poinciana Hotel 




Golf Club House 



(From Palm Beach News.) 



<i/t Verse Souvenir from the Florida East Coast 



PALM BEACH 

By Larry Chittenden 

"Poet Ranchman" 

P-eerless realm of Health and Pleasure 

by the Gulf Stream's ardent sea, 
A-h what memories haunt our fancies 

when we think, proud Isle, of thee ! 
L-ife is here a happy poem 

filled with dreams and Tropic Charms; 
M-ocking birds and doves are nesting 

midst thy flowers and Royal Palms. 

B-lest are they who live and tarry 

in this sunny Land of Health; 
E-very tourist is delighted 

with this home of Rest and Wealth. 
A«fter years of foreign wanderings 

oft midst other scenes sublime, 
C-ountless travelers have admitted 

"Palm Beach has the Winter clime!" 
H-ence climatic lovers come here 

seeking Health and Youth and— Rhyme! 




Bathing Beach, Breakers Hotel 




Everglades Club 



A Verse Souvenir from South Florida 




EVERGLADES "gRASSY WATERS- 




EVERGLADES INDIAN HOME 

(From Tropical Sun. 
Palm Beach.) 



The Everglades 

By Larry Chittenden 
"Poet Ranchman" 

E-re the Spaniards sought Youth's Foun- 
tain in our fair Floridian land, 
V-oyaging from Andalusia 

To Lake Okeechobee's strand ; 
E-en before the birth of Moses 

who was found by Pharaoh's maids, 
R-ed men roamed this plumaged region 

God's Great Gardened Everglades! 
G-rassy Waters," so they called them, 

first home of the Seminole. 
L-ong a realm of miraged pictures 

which invites the dreamer's soul, 
A-h! What vistas haunt the prairies 

round our Indian's Inland Sea, 
O-omainS of a Fruitful Ftiture 

and of Empires soon to be! 
E-very seer of far vision 

knows the Everglades control 
S-ources for ten thousand fortunes 

in their Big Farmed Sugar Bowl! 




EVERGLADES SUGAR CANE 




'.EVERGLADE'S DAIBV, LO^AHATOHBE 



Dedicated to J. M. Burguieres of New Orleans and West 



To the Red Cross Lady. 205 

Aye, from your earliest girlhood 
Your soul has seemed obsessed 

With aims to aid the helpless — 
And works for the distressed. 

Ah! You have touched ''Ye Poet," 

With your unselfish art, 
So pardon now this tribute — 

These wild flow'rs of the heart. 

Yes, many a grateful soldier 
'Round trenches "Over There," 

Now lives to-day to bless you ; 
And hence your Croix de Guerre. 

And in the Cuban fracas — 

Where Teddy gathered — moss — 

In days of your young girlhood, 
You won the " Golden Cross." 

And now your days are glorious, 
Your fame henceforth is sure — 

And you will win new laurels 
Because — your heart is pure. 

The ''Pure in heart are blessed"; 

Their strength, as thousands, rare; 
The allied Legions loved you, 

Therefore your Croix de Guerre. 

Hence all our palms and lilies. 

Here by God's tropic sea, 
Now wave their royal banners 

In fond farewells — for thee. 

(In Palm Beach Post, April i, 19 18.) 



2o6 Ranch Verses. 



THE LEAGUE OF KINDNESS. 

TDEDAD that League of Nations, alas, seems 
^ falling flat- 
But Larry's League of Kindness — what do yez 

think of that ? 
Arrah, there, don't be talking — that is the very 

thing 
Shure that will kill all warfare — let everybody 

sing ! 
Hip! Hip! — let's try it, brothers — it's bound to 

come, some day, 
When swords are beat to plowshares, so brethren 

let us pray. 
It really does not matter just what we find to do. 
So long as we are honest and fair and square and 

true. 
Let's give up silly quarrels — and wrangles — 

over creeds. 
And hit the trail to heaven through lands of 

kindly deeds. 
Suppose, dear gentle reader, suppose that you 

and I, 
Just form a League of Kindness — 'twill do no 

harm to try. 
Here on these Orange Mountains that overlook 

God's sea 
Let's make this town a symbol for love and 

charity. 




Autograph Library, Holly Inn 




Shore Scene 



A Verse Souvenir from the Maine Coast 

CHRISTMAS COVE 
By Larry Chittenden 

"Poet Ranchman " 

C-ool realm of fir-dad islands, 

rock-ribbed midst murmuring seas> 
H-ow fair are thy attractions, 

thou Maine Hesperides. 
R-are are thy views and pictures, 

on Nature's canvas flung, 
I-nspiring all beholders 

with songs that are not sung. 
S-erene it rests forever, 

wooed by each patient tider— 
T-he nurseling of the forest, 

and yet the ocean's bride. 
M-idst graceful queenly birches, 

arrayed in silver rags, 
A-re hosts of knightly spruces, 

marshalled on lonely crags. 
S-alute them now, ye breezes, 

and wave your emerald flags! 

C-alm in her verdant beauty, 

she dreams beside the sea~ 
O-h lovely Christmas harbor, 

no words can picture thee! 
V-ermillioned-gloried sunsets 

glow o'er thy slopes of green; 
£-nduring charms surround thee, 

fair crag-crowned Island Queen. 




View Toward Pemaquid 




Tennis Match, Casino Courts 



MERRILL PHOTOS 






i w»\ 




Old-time West Texas Temple of Justice — with Judge Roy Bean and Horse. 
Contributed by J. M. Radford, a Pioneer Merchant, Abilene, Texas. 



The Jackrahhit. 207 

All cannot now give money — gold is the lesser 

part — 
But all can scatter sunshine — the silver of the 

heart. 
Let's banish bitter feelings — and creeds much as 

we can, 
And live Christ's big religion — the Brotherhood 

of Man. 
Then by God's sacred symbols and our boys 

Over There, 
Let's try to find earth's Eden — henceforth in 

proud Montclair. 
In Montclair — and Great Texas — that glorious 

peopled land. 
That empire in Old Dixie — down by the Rio 

Grande ! 

(From Lafferty's Letters in Montclair Times.) 



THE JACKRABBIT. 

A VANISHING SETTLER FROM THE ABILENE 

COUNTRY. 

A HOY ! my old neighbor, and how do you do ? 
^^ We've taken much pleasure in just watch- 
ing you. 
For your ears are so generous, your whiskers so 
fine, 



2o8 Ranch Verses. 

And your legs are so long — we owe you a line. 
But you seem too contented out there in the 

wheat, 
Just hopping around where there's plenty to eat. 
By the look of possession upon your grave face 
We believe you imagine you own the whole 

place ; 
But the nesters and farmers are all cussin' you, 
Still you're my first neighbor, so how do you do? 
It would not seem natural if you were not here, 
Though now you are scarce as a Maverick steer. 

Since the settlers have come, you will have to 
move out, 

For the Man with a Hoe knows what he's about, 

And you're such an eater of oats and of wheat. 

Such a glutton, alas! Oh, why must you eat? 

Don't you know that your conduct is doing much 
harm. 

That rabbits don't really belong to the farm ? 

Why can't you remain in the wilds and the brakes 

Midst horn-toads and lizards and big rattle- 
snakes ? 

You are getting too greedy — it never will do ; 

So good-bye, old neighbor, we are sorry for you ; 

But your ears are so generous, your whiskers so 
fine, 

And your legs are so long, we give you this line. 

{Dallas-Galveston News.) 




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The Cowboy Preacher's Sermon. 209 



THE COWBOY PREACHER'S SERMON. 

C AID he: "You Maverick Sinners — are in an 

awful state 
And Hell is shore to git yer — unless you Pull 

your Freight 
Oh leave them deep hog wallers of filth and mire 

and sin 
And hit the trail to Heaven — the Lord will let 

you in ! 
The Corrals of Salvation are free and big and 

fair 
There's Water, Grass and Shelter — in Pastures 

Over There 
The Boss of this hyar Outfit — I know him — all to 

well 
Has ear marks of the Devil — His Brands are 

hot from Hell 
His Hoss will shore out run you and ketch you 

with his rope 
Unless you git religion and find Eternal Hope. 

"Oh, if I could but tell you — how happy you 

would be 
To quit Sin's Mires of Meanness and ride God's 

range with me 
Thar haint no more Night herding beyond the 

Big Divide 



210 Ranch Verses. 

And cares Stampedes is over — when God is on 

your side 
The Hell and Hails of Trouble can't never hit 

you then 
If you put on Christ's Slicker — and camp at his 

Big Pen 
Old Beelzebub's chuck Wagon — hit is a hungry 

place 
So leave hit now you fellers — for Pullman Kyars 

of Grace 
Sin's Quick Sands of Perdition is gwine to drag 

you down 
So git aboard Faith's Sleeper — for God's Celestial 
town. 

"Thar haint no more barb fences and no more 

lines to ride 
In God's green bloomin' pastures beyond the 

Big Divide 
God's Range is full of flowers — far as the eye can 

see 
Thar's worlds of feed and water — and all of hit 

is free 
Thar haint no Blizzard sand storms, nor fightin* 

over brands 
Nor Strays — Nor Jails — Nor Northers — in 

Love's eternal Lands 
So Quit your Mires of Meanness and ride God's 

Range with me 
I can't begin to tell you how happy you will be 



The Prairie Dog. 211 

Get shet of that old Devil — Get shet of him I 

say 
And hit the Trail for Heaven — Now fellers let 

us pray." 



THE PRAIRIE DOG. 

ANOTHER VANISHING SETTLER FROM THE 
ABILENE COUNTRY. 

T_r IP ! Hip ! You little devil sitting out there 

in the sun ! 
What is that you're always saying? See the 

little rascals run ! 
"Cheep, cheep, cheep — we don't like strangers. 

Cheep, cheep, cheep — this is our home. 
Chip, chip, chip — now don't you come here, 
Cheep, cheep, cheep, chi, chip, cheep- 
chome!" 

He has vanished in his castle, always built in 

holy ground 
On the Western Texas prairies — hundreds of 

them — all around. 
They are brown or red or tawny, larger than the 

largest rat. 
Half a squirrel, half a rabbit, and as active as a 

cat; 



212 Ranch Verses. 

Short of tail which wags with business very hard 

on grass or grains; 
Skipping, playing, tripping, praying — round 

their pulpits on the plains. 
They do not live with snakes or owls — that idea 

is absurd, 
For we watched them scold such neighbors, aye, 

and this is what we heard : 
"Cheep, cheep, cheep — now don't you corcie here. 

Cheep, cheep, cheep — this is our home. 
Cheep, cheep, cheep — we hate intruders 

Cheep, cheep, cheep, chi, chip, cheep, 

chome!" 

{Dallas-Galveston News.) 



OUR HEROES. 

MONTCLAIR BOYS WHO DIED IN THE GREAT WAR. 

\\T E never can forget them. They were our 

boys, our shields, 
Who died to save all countries on Flanders' 

poppied fields. 
The night-winds sad are sighing above those 

battle gounds, 
But Glory guards forever those silent Soldier 

Mounds. 
Gone — aye, but not forgotten! God's sleepers 

Over There 



TO THE MONTCLAIR BOY SCOUTS 

All hail our bright brave Boy Scouts, God bless, them everywhere 

They are our growing heroes today in Proud Montclair. 

We see in their young faces — -a purpose in their eyes — 

To make Montclair much better — our town a Paradise. 

They'll fight for home and country, and right and liberty, 

For Truth and Peace and Honor wherever they may be: 

No matter where you find them — the Boy Scouts are prepared 

To always do their duty and be the boys who dared. 

AH hail our bright brave Boy Scouts, God bless them everywhere 

They are youths 'living heroes — today in Proud Montclair. 

— LARRY CHITTENDEN. 




SCOUT VISITORS TO PRINCE OF. WALES 



Fred Thomas — Field Executive 



F. F. Gray — Commissioner 



Brayton Lewis 
Robert McNight 
Langdon Williams 
Alva Marsh 
Paul Roundy 
Montgomery Briner 
Edmund Heyne 
Lewis Scudder 
Joseph Joiner 



Mathew Jordan George Wells 

Russel Peters John Ferguson 

Victor Harrison Hughes Bryan 

John Turnbull Jerome Davis 

Worcester Bouck Lyseck Covert 

George 3trahan James Wheaton 

Donald Moyer R. D, Hall 

Ed. Cone J. L, Hamar 

Richard Briner Robt. Mungej;^ 

Douglas McRean 

About 350 Boy Scouts in Montclair 



(From Larry's Bugle.) 



Montclair's Roll of Honor. 213 

Have brought new fame and honor to dear old 

proud Montclair. 
Towards Flanders' fields of poppies where lonely 

night-winds pray 
And memory weeps in silence, sad hearts are 

turned to-day. 
The mothers and the sisters, the brothers, 

fathers, too 
Are thinking of our heroes — their Boys beyond 

the Blue — 
We fondly now salute them and bow before the 

bier 
Of Montclair's Silent Sixty now resting far from 

here. 
Their names should be emblazoned in bronze 

where all can see, 
While Time brings greater honor and Im- 
mortality. 



MONTCLAIR'S ROLL OF HONOR. 

T^HE Roll of Honor on the following page 
"*• of the sons of Montclair who have died in 
the service was compiled with reverent care and 
every possible effort was made to have the list 
complete and accurate. Not one of those who 
have added this glorious page to Montclair's 
history should be omitted from the record. 



214 



Ranch Verses. 



AcKERMAN, Harry T. 
Adams, Briggs K. 
Baker, Chas. Whiting, Jr. 
Barnes, Austin 
Barr, Chapin C. 
Bedell, Alan Trippett 
Booth, James H. 
BoGERT, Ralph Forbes 
Bradley, Harold B. 
Brownell, Frank Eugene 
Bush, Charles B. 
Bush, Henry Potts 
Bush, Samuel Garnons 
Butcher, George Stanley 
Chard, George Cable 
Cahill, Matthew L. 
Crews, Crawford 
Conroy, Joseph F. 
Conyne, Wm. Stanley 
Cook, Howard M., Jr. 
Crane, Harold T. 
Deetjen, William L. 
DuBois, Norman D. 
Elmquist, Emil Harris 
Elphick, William 
Gallie, George William 
Hall, Percy M. 
HiGGiNs, William 
HoLMAN, Otto 
Hopkins, Ralph S. 

Wyman, 



HoYLE, Henry 
Hughes, Leonard 
Kent, Frank J. 
Maffuei, Vincenzo 
Mills, Alonzo 
NivEN, Maurice P. 
OsBORN, Paul G. 
Perrin, Francis C. 
Pfingstag, L. Frank 
Ramsay, James 
Ramsay, Lisle C. 
Rapkin, Edmund L. 
Roche, Michael 
RoECHR, Edward H. 
Rose, Richard W. P. 
RuFFRiDGE, George Albert 
Sellers, Barrington West 
Sellers, Lee West 
Snyder, Chester Gordon 
Smith, Benjamin E. 
Smith, Henry B. 
Smith, William 
Stanfield, Ivanhoe 
Synnott, Joseph A. 
Tenney, Levi Sanderson 
TiNKHAM, Edward Ilsley 
Waterman, Chandler 
West, Kenneth George 
Webster, Curtis 
Weed, Walter Ten Eyck 
John 



(From Larry's Bugle.) 



montclair's non-sectarian charity. 
''THE CHILDREN'S LEAGUE. 
FOR THE TOWN'S POOR PEOPLE. 

FOUNDED JAN. 1ST, I92O. 
BY LARRY CHITTENDEN. 



1920 A BUGLE SOUVENIR ^ 1920 

Below are Beneficiaries of "The Children's League." Donations invited Now and Always 





DAY NURSERY FOR CHILDREN, MONTCLAIR 



MONTCLAIR FRESH AIR AND CONVALESCENT HOME 




THE CHILDREN'S LEAGUE 

But don't forget the children— God's fairies, everytvhere. 
It is our Christian duty to help them in Montclair- — ■ 
Of every tribe and nation, of every kind and creeds — 
Let's help the little children with cash and kindly deeds. 
For Christ, the Master, tells us, wherever we may be; 
When ye have helped the children, "Ye did it unto Me." 
Our lovely Montclair ladies — God bless them all, I say, 
They are our Montclair angels — forever and for aye. 
They'll help jour League of Kindness- — the little children, too. 
■And they will. build proud symbols — for our lost boys in blue. 
But don't send Larry money — he cannot keep accounts — 
The Savings Bank, will do that, and credit your amounts. 
And sometime in the future — and now we shan't be long — ■ 
Perhaps ycMir gifts, dear reader, may be, yes, named in song. 






ST. VINCENT'S HOME FOR BABIES, MONTCLAIR 



The Montclair, New Jersey, Savings Bank is the cash custodian for " The 
Children's League." It will gladly receive, forward, and distribute, all cash 
donations for the children. 



Ji Selection from th0 
Catalogue of 

C. P- PUTNAMS SONS 



Camplete Catalogue sen! 
on application 



A SELECTION OF FIFTY 
PRESS OPINIONS OF '* RANCH VERSES." 

Crown 8°, Illustrated. $2.00. Post Paid. 



" Ranch Verses" are tuneful, manly in sentiment and musi- 
cal in flow. They have a right cheerful tone, and are full of 
spirit and vivacity. The joy of existence and the sense of 
perfect sympathy for free and tameless nature animate Mr. 
Chittenden's lyrics. — London Saturday Review. 

The ballads and character sketches inspired by life in the 
Lone Star State have the genuine ring. They are worthy of 
a place beside those of Riley, Field, Harte, and Miller. Mr. 
Chittenden's versification is musical, fashioned by that true 
art which conceals art. A picture of the Ranch, and other 
illustrations, and the appropriate cover, help the appearance 
of the book. — Review of Reviews. 

" Ranch Verses " have a catching cheerfulness, and are in- 
teresting as the expression of feelings widespread in the great 
American democracy. They are all bright, fluent, and read- 
able. — Edinburgh (Scotland) Scotsman. 

Once in a while the wanderer through the desert of printed 
verse chances upon an oasis where everything in sight is nat- 
ural, human and refreshing. Such an experience may be 
gained by a perusal of Mr. Chittenden's book — a volume which 
is nowhere pretentious, although everything in it is sincere. 
Chittenden's spirit is both fanciful and sentimental, without 
ever being mawkish or coarse. — John Habberton in Godey's 
Magazine. 

" Ranch Verses " is the modest title of a book of very clever 
harum-scarum sort of mixed singing — curious and entertain- 
ing. " Neptune's Steeds " is an excellent lyric — a piece that 
Longfellow might have written. Mr. Chittenden's volume is 
sure to become a favorite. — Glasgow (Scotland) Herald. 

The breezy life, the dashing free spirit, the kiss of wander- 
ing winds, the sight of lofty mountain peaks, now the gladness 
of a song, now the pathos of a poem, will win from readers 
old and young unstinted praise and warm eulogy. The bold 
intellect of the author, tempered by culture and refinement, 
has produced a volume that must bring him fame. — Public 
Opinion, 



Press Opinions. 

** Ranch Verses " have a swing and dash and a rare fresh- 
ness. — Boston Literary World, 

Very pretty verses, and very comprehensive. — N. V. World. 

The best metrical description of ranch life ever published. 
— JV. Y. Evening Telegram. 

" Ranch Verses " show^ freshness of themes and considerable 
cleverness. The gallop of a broncho seems to have got into 
the lines. " Majah Green" and "The Cowboys' Christmas 
Ball " are good examples of pure American humor. — N. V. 

Recorder. 

Chittenden's Ranch is a home of the muses. It has de- 
veloped a high order of prairie poems. — N. V. Home yournal. 

" Ranch Verses" is a worthy and very welcome contribu- 
tion to our best American poetical literature. Mr. Chittenden's 
verse flows with an ease, freedom, and vigor that are very 
attractive, and almost invariably it is marked by true poetic 
genius and scholarly carefulness. — Boston Home yournal. 

A most charming book of poetry. Mr. Chittenden is a 
genuine poet. His poems have touch, insight, rhythm, and 
merit which ought to be recognized. — Boston Traveller. 

There is considerable descriptive power in " Ranch Verses," 
and they have a swing and force which is very agreeable. 
The book deserves approbation. — Boston Congregationalist. 

"Ranch Verses" have a wild native flavor which is 
agreeable to the taste. The author has a cheerful spirit, 
he possesses considerable originality, and has the knack of 
turning off stanzas with accuracy and ease. — Philadelphia 
Ledger. 

Many of Mr. Chittenden's poems possess divine fire, and 
there is a certain sweetness, simplicity, and freshness about 
them which gives them an unusual charm. The opening 
poem, " Hidden," is worthy of Tennyson or Longfellow. It 
is a beautiful volume. — National Tribune. 

A volume of poems which will fully entertain lovers of song. 
It is in great variety, and capitally rendered. Mr. Chittenden 
is a born poet ; his songs seem to flow as naturally as that of 
the birds of his hills and mountains and valleys. — Chicago 
Lnter-Ocean. 

Chittenden's poems have a swing about them which is very 
attractive. He gives us Flemish pictures of Texas life, the 
realism of which is never vulgar, and the habit of which is 
rich, rare, and racy. — Chicago Post. 



Ranch Verses. 

Mr. Chittenden has won and deservedly retains the title 
of "Poet Ranchman." His book will make the name of 
Chittenden a household word in thousands of homes long after 
his pilgrimage among men has ended, and it will secure for its 
talented author a conspicuous place among the most deserving 
verse writers of the country. — Chicago Sun and Drover's 
Journal. 

*' Ranch Verses " are pleasant, and have the spirit of a free 
and breezy life. Beyond the limits of Western dialect the 
best poem is one entitled " The Vikings of Cape Ann," a song 
to the Gloucester fishermen. It is spirited and natural, with 
the genuine poetic instinct in it. — Chicago Times. 

The " Poet Ranchman" has rounded up a very choice cok 
lection of his verses. Variety is the soul of it all, and the 
spice of life pervades it. — St. Louis Republic. 

" Ranch Verses" are full of the true spirit of poetry. — 
Scr anion (Penn.) Truth. 

There are some charming gems of verse in this volume, well 
worth the rich setting they enjoy. — Cincinnati Enquirer. 

We cannot help feeling that East and West there will be a 
good many pleased readers of a volume of poems called 
" Ranch Verses." Chittenden is genuine, and his verses have 
the true flavor of the soil. — Detroit Free Press. 

The book contains an excellent collection of versification, 
and will certainly fill a place in the vast field of poetic litera- 
ture. — Burlington Haw key e. 

A very pretty volume, and very pretty verses. Some of the 
poems are really fine, true of metre, lofty of conception, and 
felicitous of expression. — New Orleans Picayune. 

Chittenden's muse has a fresh, sweet note of her own, both 
musical and graceful. — Charleston News and Courier. 

In nearly everything Mr. Chittenden writes there is a breath 
of the prairie and sight of the open sky. Has vitalized the 
jolliest, the best scenes and sentiments of Western life, and 
placed the West on a higher plane than previous conceptions 
and old descriptions intimated. Infinitely better in design 
and quality than Bret Harte. — Galveston-Dallas News. 

The public is to be congratulated that Mr. Chittenden's 
poems have been gathered into permanent form. With the 
hand of a lover he has painted a thousand pictures as clear and 
true as ever shone on artist's canvas. Nature's vibrant chords 
echo through everything the "Poet Ranchman" has written. 
-"Houston (Tex.) Post. 



Press Opinions, 

We like the volume, and are pleased to commend it for 
its literary merit, its subjects of interest, and strong moral 
teaching. — San Antonio (Tex.) Express. 

" Ranch Verses " are none of them long ; they are varied in 
style, and differ widely in choice of theme ; many are local, 
others purely sentimental, and some are extremely pathetic. 
The versatility of the " Poet Ranchman's" genius is too w^ell 
known to need further comment. — Fort Worth ( Tex.) Gazette. 

There is a sense of freedom and a note of the untrammelled 
in " Ranch Verses." One may almost hear the whistling of 
the Northers and the dismal howling of the coyotes in " The 
Cowboys' Christmas Ball." — Louisville Courier-yournal. 

The characteristic notes struck in "Ranch Verses" are 
pride in manliness, love of the natural, and scorn of the arti- 
ficial. Through all the lines there is a practical, healthy view 
of life and duty. — Richmond ( Va.) Dispatch. 

The scope of " Ranch Verses " is from Maine to Florida, 
from Hell Gate to the Golden GdlQ.— Monte lair (N. J.) 
Times. 

" Ranch Verses" are sure to prove a blessing to the blasi 
readers of modern poems. — Montclair (N. J.) Herald. 

" Ranch Verses" is a book filled with vivid pictures of the 
rOund-ups, the herds, the songs of ranchmen, and Christmases 
of the cowboys, done in verse, not of the Browning style of 
incoherent utterings. No ! Chittenden's poetry is of the 
practical sort. He strikes the lyre with the stout right arm of 
a genuine free-born American. A man who roams at will the 
vast prairies and sleeps at night gazing at the myriad stars of 
the whole heavens is not given to writing twaddle. Let 
Book Notes advise you to buy this clever book. — Rider's Book 
Notes. 

This book is much more than the title implies, and it is bright 
and entertaining from cover to cover. A volume that one may 
open at random and be sure to find something interesting and 
worth reading. — American Bookseller. 

The whole book teems with life of the healthiest kind. 
Every page is interesting, and worthy of Bret Harte and Field. 
We cannot do better than recommend '* Ranch Verses." — 
N. Y. Electrical Revieiv. 

Texas has a poet of whom she may well be proud. The 
muses were dispensing their best gifts when they threw their 
spell on " Larry " Chittenden. — Peck's Sun^ 



Ranch Verses, 

" Ranch Verses" will meet with admirers, not so much on 
account of their poetic excellence as owing to the air of free- 
dom that permeates the entire volume, yet it cannot be denied 
that there are rich, sympathetic, elevating touches in Mr. 
Chittenden's verses. — Toronto (Canada) Globe. 

This volume contains much genial information about Texas ; 
the cowboys, round-ups, etc. One must really attach value to 
this book. — N. Y. Evening Post. 

Mr. Chittenden has done his work carefully — we can hear 
the cyclone rushing by, and we feel that ranch life has a good 
deal that is enticing in it when we read such lines as "The 
Cowboys' Christmas Ball." Mr. Chittenden writes very 
pleasing verses, and we are glad to have his book. — N. Y. 
Herald. 

One of the most interesting and readable books of poetry 
ever published. — N. Y. Press. 

"Ranch Verses" will be found to be agreeable and in- 
genious. — A/'. Y. Sun. 

" Ranch Verses " possess a power, a richness of humor, a 
force of expression, and a jingling music which are simply de- 
lightful. — Brooklyn Standard- Union. 

"Ranch Verses" are interesting. The author versifies 
pleasantly on all subjects, people, and scenes, from Cape Ann 
and Bar Harbor to Anson, Texas. — Brooklyn Eagle. 

The pieces are excellent. A vein of beauty, simplicity, and 
a careless sort of style suggest breezes from the staked Plains 
and the hills of the Guadaloupe. — N. Y. Independent. 

There is originality and spontaneity of inspiration in some 
of the pieces contained in a volume entitled " Ranch Verses," 
by "Larry" Chittenden, which reproduces here and there 
something of the fresh air and the wild life of the prairies. — 
London (England) Times. 

The Cowboys have not had long to wait for their poet. The 
joys and sorrows of the ranchmen, their life on the lonely 
plains under the open sky, find adequate expression in this 
volume of creditable verse. — London Publishers' Circular. 

One of Mr. Chittenden's best pieces is " Neptune's Steeds," 
not one of the best is where he endeavors to chaff Mr. Kipling. 
But we are never quite out of charity with Chittenden, except 
when he rhymes Alice to palace. — Manchester (England) 
Guardian. 

The dialect poems are worthy to stand beside those of 
Bret Harte and Riley. — New Orleans Times-Democrat. 



BERMUDA VERSES 

Crown S°. Illustrated, $i.So net. By mail^ $i.6o 
PRESS NOTICES 

The Edinburgh Scotsman said: 

" The many attractions of Bermuda have never been sung with a 
livelier feeling or more infectious enthusiasm than in this book of racy, 
airy, gracefully rollicking verses from the gifted pen of a writer already 
favorably known by his poems of Ranch life." 
The New York Herald said: 

" Full of freshness and vigor ; very attractive." 
Said The London Times : 

'' An interesting volume, capitally rendered." 
Said The Nottingham Guardian : • 

"The Poet Ranchman's graceful verse does ample justice to the 
region he loves so well. The ranch is also vigorously portrayed, but a 
deeper note is struck in the final poem ' The Vision.' " 
The Boston Transcript said:_ 

" Mr. Chittenden's verse is very pretty and attractive, delicate and 
imaginative — mirroring as it might the sunniness of the land that in- 
spired it." 

Said The Boston Times : 

'■ Bermuda Verses contains some very pleasant poems. There is a 
catching cheerfulness and real good feeling expressed. It is a very attrac- 
tive volume, finely illustrated from photographs." 
The Liverpool Post said: 

" Bermuda Verses are full of the joy of life. Pleasant and entertaining. 
Illustrated in great variety." 

Said The Fort Worth, Texas, Record .; 

" Bermuda Verses possess an unfailing quality of good cheer, a rollick- 
ing style that is sure to please." 

The Dallas, Texas, News, said; 

" The Poet Ranchman's latest book is beautifully illustrated and dedi- 
cated to ' The Ocean Paradise and Evergreen Land. The sub-tropical 
English garden at New York's front door,' etc. . . . As a souvenir the 
book will find a warm welcome and ready sale." 

Said The Galveston, Texas, News •' 

" Bermuda Verses is a very pretty volume. The book will be gladly 
welcomed by the author's friends and admirers of his muse, and he has 
a large number of both." 

The San Antonio, Texas, Express: 

" Bermuda Verses is a very attractive volume, beautifully illustrated 
with photographs and filled with entrancing word pictures." 

The Anson, Texas, Reporter : 

" Bermuda Verses, by our own Poet Ranchman, Larry Chittenden, is a 
bouquet of beautiful dreams and balmy songs. . . . Our enterprising, 
hustling friend, Mr. Sam Morrow, has had no trouble in selling this book, 
for Larry and his muse are well known hereabouts." 

The Bermuda Gazette : 

" This volume forms a most important contribution to Bermuda litera- 
ture, and should be welcomed by all who take pride in our colony." 

The Bermuda Colonist : 

" This book must be seen and read to be appreciated. . . . As a 
souvenir or present Bermuda Verses is the very thing." 



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Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 

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The Christmas Cove-Maine-Autograph Library 

Founded by Larry Chittenden: "Poet Ranchman" 

With many notable names: Theo. Roosevelt, Dr. Lyman Abbott, 
Ex. Pres. Wilson, Jas. W. Gerard, Edwin Markham, Geo. Inness,Jr. 

"The Salmagundi Club" and about 1500 other book loving donors 

All in "The Sea Birds' Nest" 




Autograph Library, Holly Inn 
Open Daily — except Sunday — from 10 a. m. to 12 noon 

EVERYBODY WELCOME BOOKS FREE ! 



